Free The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery by Donna Andrews Page B

it—most people did when they argued with the mayor. But the mayor didn’t look happy either.
    What were they up to?
    The thought continued to nag at me for the rest of the game and all the way home. Michael was out in the barn helping with the animals, so I dropped Timmy and the boys with him and went back to the house to grab what I needed to run my errands.
    And maybe one of my errands should be stopping somewhere to learn a little more information about what was going on in town. But where? Bothering the chief for information was definitely out, but if I ran into Horace, I could probably get a few tidbits about the murder investigation. Ms. Ellie, at the library, kept her finger on the pulse of local politics, and could probably hazard a guess at what Mayor Pruitt and Terence Mann had been arguing about. But I wasn’t sure anyone could answer the most nagging question—whether Parker Blair’s murder had anything to do with any of this. For that—
    “Earth to Meg?”

Chapter 7
    I glanced up to see Caroline Willner looking at me with a concerned frown on her face. No wonder. I was standing in the pantry doorway with my stack of fabric grocery bags in my hand, staring into space.
    “Sorry,” I said. “I was just thinking. Sleep deprivation meets information overload. How’s everything out in the barn?”
    “Fine, as long as someone sensible’s there to keep them organized.” Clearly from her tone, Caroline considered herself the number one if not the only person to fill the sensible post. “Can I ask you a question or two? About something I can’t seem to get a straight answer on from any of the Corsicans?”
    “Sure.” I dumped my empty bags on one of the kitchen chairs and sat down myself. Even if Caroline’s question was a short and simple one, my feet were tired.
    “You could use some tea,” she said. She grabbed two cups from the cupboard.
    “You don’t have to bother,” I said. “I could do that.”
    “Sit,” she said. “And give me the straight scoop on this Mayor Pruitt.”
    “I’d call him a weasel, if that wasn’t an insult to any self-respecting mustelid. What about him?”
    Caroline popped two cups of cold water into the microwave and punched a few buttons before answering.
    “I’ve been talking to Randall Shiffley today,” she said finally.
    “What’s Randall doing here?” Since Randall owned and ran the Shiffley Construction Company, we usually only saw him when something needed repairing or renovating. Just hearing his name made me want to go and make sure the family checkbook was still safely stowed in my desk, and that the stubs didn’t show any more five-figure bites out of our savings.
    “Doing a few repairs that your father thought we needed for the safety and comfort of the animals,” Caroline said. “Don’t worry,” she added, seeing from my expression that I already was. “I think you’ll find they’re all improvements, and if you don’t agree, Randall can undo them.”
    I took a deep breath. I didn’t trust Dad’s judgment, but if Caroline and Randall thought these were improvements, they probably were. And then Caroline added the final note of reassurance.
    “And CORSICA’s paying, of course. Anyway, since he got here this morning, Randall Shiffley’s been telling me some pretty shocking things about Mayor Pruitt. Should I take them with a grain of salt?”
    I sighed.
    “Yes, but only a grain,” I said. “Randall’s a Shiffley, and the mayor’s a Pruitt. Randall would almost rather cut out his tongue than say something nice about a Pruitt. Not that I can imagine the mayor doing anything worth praising. Keep in mind, of course, that I’m not precisely a neutral observer. I’ve had a few run-ins with the Pruitts myself.”
    “The Pruitts and Shiffleys are feuding then?” Caroline looked as if she would enjoy a nice, juicy bit of gossip. “Kind of a Montague and Capulet thing?”
    “I’d have said Hatfields and McCoys, but you get the