Free A Bird in the Hand by Dane McCaslin

in a gesture that caught Ms. Wentworth's eye. Unfortunately, it also seemed to renew the waterworks.
    "Ms. Wentworth," I began, careful to keep my voice modulated. It would never do if she kept crying. I needed her focused and in control of herself and her emotions. "Ms. Wentworth, could you please tell me how I can help?" Here I smiled at her encouragingly, dipping my head down in order to look into her tear-swollen eyes.
    Her words, in the oft-repeated adage of my Irish grandmother, could have knocked me down with a feather. "Why do you have Tally's dove?"
    I admit I was baffled. I had no such item that I was aware of, and then I saw that she was staring at my hand that held the tiny silver bird. I looked from it to her and back again. That, I realized was a great question. Why did I have it? I knew, of course, how I'd gotten it, but as to why it had been in my yard to begin with I couldn't say.
    "It sounds fantastic, I do realize that, but I rescued this," here I offered the charm up for her inspection, "from two mockingbirds. They were in my yard, fussing over it, and I scared them into dropping it." I smiled at her, feeling a tad silly; I don't usually attack the local wildlife.
    Silently she reached out her hand, and I gently dropped the bird into her palm. I watched her as she inspected it closely, raising it closer to her eyes and inspecting every inch—or in this case, every centimeter—until she had satisfied herself.
    About what, I had not a clue, unless it was simply the fact of regaining one of Natalie Goldberg's possessions. Whatever the case, I decided to wait it out, to see what she would say. I still could not make a clear connection of any sort with Tally and the charm, nor had I linked either with the body in the neighborhood park. Or with my lately departed neighbor, for that matter. From where I stood, it was all a jumble of circumstance.
    By the time I'd retrieved the charm, assuring Ms. Wentworth that I would be back the following afternoon so that we might have a chat about the mystery surrounding Tally's whereabouts, I was mentally exhausted. The woman was a bundle of contradictory emotions, a far cry from the stoic, in-charge secretary I had met on my first trip to the mayor's hidey-hole. In fact, a visit to the bakery seemed the best way to counteract my return appointment with Ms. Wentworth. With visions of sugarplums dancing about in my over-stimulated brain, I backed out of my parking place and headed downtown.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    Carefully setting my sugar-encrusted prize on the seat beside me, I buckled up and headed for home. I wanted my warm cozy kitchen and the comforting presence of husband and dog. And I knew Gregory well enough to recognize the need for a little bribery, especially if I was to compel him into helping with the next stage of what I now thought of as the investigation .
    Shedding shoes and jacket in the kitchen, I cocked an ear for signs of life. The familiar sounds of a cycling race eased from behind the partly closed door to the den, and I could almost make out what Gregory was watching. If the calendar said July, it was the granddaddy of them all, the Tour de France. If the calendar said springtime, as it did now, it was a recording of the previous year's Tour. I grinned to myself as I stuck my head around the door. My dear spouse was nothing if not predictable, and no matter the amount of bickering that we did, I loved him dearly, and he returned the feeling in spades.
    I should have been suspicious of the lack of canine greeting, though, particularly one from Trixie. She is a credit to her gender, curious as the day is long, and a devoted keeper of all comings and goings in our home. For once, though, the house was silent.
    Both Gregory and she were in deep slumber, curled next to one another in the recliner. Shaking my head, I advanced toward them, at the ready to shush Trixie if need be. I shouldn't have worried. Neither of them moved a muscle. In fact, it was too