As her afternoon constitutional took her past the village shops Edith was forced to acknowledge that she felt thoroughly sorry for herself.
She stopped to watch kittens roughhousing in Tipps and Tails’ window. Perhaps she should get herself a cat. Wilbur had been gone a year now and it was time she did something to ease her loneliness. Her friends were useless -- constantly carping about arthritis, cataracts, or the sad state of their digestive systems. Not one of them behaved as though they expected to last much beyond Christmas. It was most tiresome.
That gray kitten had a sweet face, and she loved its one white paw. She’d go in and take a closer look.
Mr. Tipps hurried toward Edith, beaming his enthusiasm. If he’d had a tail, he’d have wagged it.
“How are you Mrs. Hotchkiss? What may I do for you this fine day?”
It wasn’t a fine day at all – miserable, in fact, with the wind coming off the lake as bone-numbing as any March wind could be. Edith found Bertram Tipps’ cheeriness irritating, but she kept her exasperation to herself. It occurred to her that she was becoming every bit as crotchety as the very friends she’d been castigating.
“I was just wanting a closer look at those kittens, Mr. Tipps.”
“They are adorable aren’t they? He rubbed his hands in glee as though he alone was responsible for their cuteness. “Matt Watson over at Longview Farm brought them in just yesterday. He’s keeping one for his little girl but is hoping I can sell the rest. Part Siamese he told me. People go for Siamese…”
“Hmm. They don’t look like Siamese to me.”
Unperturbed by Edith’s acid comment, Mr. Tipps lifted a kitten from the cage, but as he turned to hand it to Edith he saw her attention had been pulled elsewhere. He followed her gaze to the farthest corner of the shop. “Oh, that’s Peter you’re looking at. Don’t worry about him.”
“Why is he all the way in back? Don’t you want to sell him?”
“It’s not that I wouldn’t sell him. It’s more that nobody would buy him. He makes the customers nervous so I keep him out of the way. If I’d known what he was like I’d never have let myself get stuck with him. I’m too warm-hearted is my trouble. I wouldn’t get too near…”
But Edith was already on her way to the back of the shop. “All right if I take a look?” The question was rhetorical. Edith wasn’t in the least concerned whether Tipps minded or otherwise.
The parrot was watching her approach with a baleful eye.
“He’s quite beautiful,” observed Edith. But if it weren’t for that nasty look in his eye I’d swear he was one of those poor creatures that had been shot and stuffed. Why doesn’t he move?” Edith halted a few feet from the cage where she and the bird exchanged glare for glare. The bird stood frozen on its perch, moving not so much as an eyelid.
“He tenses when somebody gets near. Just sits and stares at people and scares the dickens out of them. He was traumatized by something, I should think. A friend of mine found him sitting in a tree in his backyard one morning, practically frozen to death, poor thing. Anyway, Harry – that’s the friend, brought him to me. He’s gotten used to me now, but he definitely doesn’t like other folks to get near.”
“Does he talk?”
“I’ve never heard him. I did do some checking, and I found out from somebody down at the veterinary clinic that he belonged to the Parkers out on Bay Road. They said that old Mrs. Parker had died and her husband went shortly after. Not sure how the bird got out. Bit of a mystery there. They did tell me that the bird’s name is Peter though.”
“How much do you want for him?” The words popped out of their own volition.
“What?”
“I said, ‘How much do you want for him?” Are you losing your hearing, Bertram Tipps?”
“Well, I don’t know. I guess I don’t really want anything… But, Mrs. Hotchkiss, I can’t let you take him. He just isn’t suitable… A cat, or even a dog would…”
“You have that parrot in the shop with, I assume, the intention of selling it. I’m ready to buy it young man, so I suggest you quote me a price and we can go from there.”
“But you don’t know about birds, Mrs. Hotchkiss – and this isn’t even an ordinary bird.”
“It looks ordinary to me. It’s got feathers and a tail. What else should it have?”
Mr. Tipps ran his hand through his sparse hair. He couldn’t stop her taking the bird if she wanted it, but he knew she was making a big mistake.
“Well I suppose you could always bring it back…”
“How much?”
He sighed. “You can have the bird for nothing. I’ll just charge you a twenty for the cage, and its food of course.”
All the way home Edith berated herself. Tipps had annoyed her. That’s why she had bought the bird. That was the only reason, and a ridiculous reason it was. What was she going to do now? There was no way she could take the darn thing back. She wouldn’t give Tipps that much satisfaction. Meanwhile, the stupid creature was sitting in its cage in the back of her car as dumb as you please. Why didn’t it cluck or squawk or something? Edith’s less than expert driving was not improved by her lack of concentration, and now her car came to a screeching halt as she noticed rather late that the light at Main and Maple had changed to red. She caught a glimpse of the bird in her rear-view mirror as it was forced to flap its wings in order to maintain its hold on the perch. “Hah!” Edith smiled in grim satisfaction.
Once home she placed Peter and the cage near the kitchen window. She left the cage door open in the hope that he’d be lured out by curiosity about his new surroundings, but Peter wasn’t having any. Edith watched in disgust as he continued to pose rigid, as though super-glued to his perch.
“Well, suit yourself,” she said. At least the bird’s glowing red, green and yellow plumage was cheerful. He really was a feast for the eye, but what was she going to do with him other than admire his feathers? Perhaps she’d buy him some toys tomorrow. Meanwhile he was probably hungry.
The doorbell rang as she was tipping seed into Peter’s plastic feeder. What a nuisance. Edith peeped through her curtains and groaned. It was Jeanette. Jeanette was one of those frightfully competent women who folks pretended to admire but took pains to avoid. Edith would not have liked her much had she not been her own daughter. Well, like her or not, she did love her and that was the most important thing wasn’t it? She’d have to let her in or she was bound to come snooping around the back, convinced her mother was lying dead on the kitchen floor.
“Hello Mother. Brought around a few groceries. You really shouldn’t go out in this weather.”
“Already been out.”
Before Edith could stop her, Jeanette hurried past into the kitchen and plunked the grocery bags onto the counter.
The cry of alarm wasn’t long in coming.
“What on earth is that?” Jeanette stared in horror at the birdcage and its flint-eyed occupant.
“Why, it’s a parrot, dear. What did you think it was?” Edith hid a smirk. It was almost worth bringing the silly bird home just to see the look on her daughter’s face. “That’s Peter.”
“Whose is it?”
“He’s mine. Just bought him.”
“You what?”
“Just got him from the pet shop. Beautiful isn’t he?”
There was a moment of incredulous silence as Jeanette absorbed the full measure of her mother’s folly.
“I can’t believe you let that idiot Bertie Tipps talk you into this. I’m taking it back right now, and I’ll give that man a piece of my mind. Taking advantage of the elderly…”
“I may be in my dotage, but I still make my own decisions, Jeanette. Have you time for a cup of tea dear?
Jeanette sank onto a kitchen chair, her legs losing strength.
“Mother, Arnie and I have been concerned about you lately. Perhaps it’s time for you to move…” She trailed off in mid-sentence as a more urgent thought struck her.
“What do you plan on doing with him?”
“Doing with him? Why, take care of him of course. What else would I do with him?”
“Do you know how long these birds live? I read somewhere that parrots survive into their hundreds. People leave these birds in their wills.”
“I didn’t ask Bertram how old he was. He probably doesn’t know anyway.”
Jeanette’s consternation was turning to anger.
“You didn’t think this through at all, did you Mother? You just went in there and bought the thing on a whim. Typical! You never think things through properly. Arnie and I…
“I know, you’re worried.”
“Yes we are. Something needs to be done.”
“You might enjoy doing something on a whim now and again yourself, Jeanette. Meanwhile, nothing needs to be done, and when I need the assistance of my daughter and her husband I’ll let you know. Now I’m going to take a nap. You can let yourself out.”
The next day Peter seemed more relaxed. He still eyed Edith warily but he did move around his cage a bit, even stood in the doorway and preened his plumage. Edith found herself talking to the bird about all manner of things. It made a pleasant change to share her thoughts without fear of rebuke. She found Peter’s presence oddly soothing and was beginning to think her “whim” hadn’t been such a bad thing after all. Around five o’clock, having accomplished much that needed doing about the house, Edith decided to reward herself by going out for an early dinner. She’d go to The Inglenook. Raymond could always be counted on to find her a nice table not too far from the fire. She headed for the bathroom and a shower.
Edith heard Peter’s squawking above the noise of running water. What on earth could be the matter with him? He’d been silent for hours and now he was suddenly screeching.
Grabbing a towel Edith hurried into the kitchen. Peter had at last ventured from his cage, was perched on top of it, wings flapping, feathers flying and squawking over and over something that sounded like “Lordy! Lordy! Lordy! Edith approached the bird and began talking to him in what she hoped was a soothing voice. Gradually the bird ceased its screeching, but its plumage remained in disarray. Edith tentatively stretched her hand toward him but Peter, not ready for such intimacy, scuttled back inside his cage.
What on earth had gotten into him? Well at least now she knew he could talk. Perhaps Bertie Tipps knew more than he’d let on yesterday. She’d call on him and find out. Besides, she needed to know how old the bird was. Jeanette did have a point about that…
“I really don’t know much at all about him, Mrs. Hotchkiss. The incident you describe is most interesting. I suppose you could try having him checked out by one of those pet psychologists. Don’t think there are any around here, but I could check over Chumleigh way if you like.”
“No, Bertie, that won’t be necessary. But – you don’t happen to have any idea how old he is do you?”
“Well I do know from Harry that the Potters had him for some time. Suppose you might try asking one of their neighbors. Hang on while I find the address…”
Samuel Gilcuddy lived with his sister out on Bay Road, just beyond the pig farm. Sam had been quite friendly with Mrs. Potter before she became ill, and he knew the parrot had been her pride and joy.
“She never actually said, of course, but I got the impression she didn’t get on awfully well with that husband of hers. Funny feller he was. Not at all friendly like her. Still, I don’t like to gossip…”
It was obvious to Edith that he liked very much to gossip, but she wasn’t in the mood for that right now.
“You don’t happen to know how old he is, do you? The bird, I mean.”
“Well she’d had ‘im for at least twenty year. Don’t know how old he was when she got ‘im though. Wouldn’t worry none about ‘im dying. Them birds live to a ripe old age.”
“No, I wasn’t worried about that exactly. I’d better be going. Thank you for your help.”
As they reached the front door Edith turned back. “Would you mind awfully giving me a call if you think of anything else about Peter.”
“You’re calling ‘im ‘Peter,’ are you?”
“Well that’s his name, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so. It’s just that Mabel, Mrs. Potter, always called ‘im Lord Peter. I thought it rather a fancy name for a bird, but she explained it to me once. Said his full name was ‘Lord Peter Wimsey’ – after some character in those Dorothy Sayers stories she was so fond of reading. She was quite literary was Mabel.”
“Well imagine that! That certainly does explain a lot. I suppose I’d better begin calling him by his correct name. ‘Lord Peter’ does seem quite an odd name for a bird. Hmm… Well I’ll let you know how I get on.”
“Umm, would you mind if I stopped by your place now and again? I quite liked that bird, and I think he liked me too. Used to chatter away to me he did.”
“Yes, well, I suppose that would be all right.” Edith wasn’t at all sure that it was all right, but she didn’t want to be impolite after the man had tried to be helpful. She did hope he wasn’t going to be a nuisance.
He was at her house the very next day. Edith would have been annoyed except that Lord Peter did seem to respond rather well to him, venturing from his cage and resting on Mr. Gilcuddy‘s shoulder for a few minutes. Edith didn’t think it wise to encourage a lengthy stay, but politeness dictated that she at least ask her visitor if he’d like a cup of tea. He accepted with alacrity.
“How are you two getting along then?”
“Better. He’s getting used to me I think. He’ll come out of that cage a fair bit now, although he hurries right back in if I have any visitors, barring yourself of course. I must admit I am enjoying his companionship more than I ever imagined, and he certainly does brighten up a room. That plumage is more vibrant than ever I think.”
“He’s probably preening himself more now that he feels comfy. They don’t do that when they’re upset.”
“He seems fairly comfortable most of the time, but he acts strangely when I run the shower. It’s most odd.”
“I think he killed Mabel you know.”
Edith’s mouth fell open. She must have misheard.
“What did you say?
“He killed Mabel. I’m sure of it.”
The man was mad.
“How could the bird kill…”
“Not the bird. The husband.”
Edith stared at him in stunned silence while she took this in. Then, making up her mind, she said sternly, “That’s ridiculous, and what’s more it’s dangerous gossip. I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“Wait – there’s more.”
“And I don’t want to hear it.”
She stood up, giving Gilcuddy little choice but to follow her to the front door.
He returned two days later, this time with the excuse that he’d brought a present for Lord Peter. It was one of those little mirrors that often decorate birds’ cages. Ridiculous things if you really thought much about it.
With reluctance Edith allowed him in.
Once ensconced at the table with his tea Mr. Potter began, “About the other day…”
“Look Mr….”
“Call me Sam.”
“Look, Sam, I really am not interested in gossip…”
“It’s not gossip. Mabel told me she suspected her husband was poisoning her.”
“She told you?”
“She was ill. Had cancer. She knew he was giving her too much medicine. She was dying anyway and she figured a few weeks here or there didn’t much matter at that point. Even understood his reasons. He was tired of having to take care of her, you see. When she told me all this she made me promise I wouldn’t do anything about it. It’s been on my conscience something terrible because I know I shouldn’t have kept that promise.”
“You’ve been carrying a burden and I can understand your needing to share it, Sam. But why me? Couldn’t you talk things over with your sister?”
“I suppose so, but I saw no point in burdening her with it. I have a reason for telling you.”
Edith kept her expression blank.
“You see, I’m pretty sure Lord Peter knows what happened, and I think that’s why he’s traumatized. That’s one smart bird you’ve got there.”
Was Sam senile? wondered Edith. Still, she was intrigued. “Well you’ve told me this much. You might as well get the rest off your chest.”
“Before she became ill Mabel was in the habit of taking Lord Peter into the shower with her. I know, it’s odd… You see the two of us were sharing a bottle of wine one night down at the Lion and Corkscrew – her husband was out of town and we decided to spend the evening.” He detected disapproval in the set of Edith’s mouth.
“It was all innocent, and so don’t you go thinkin’ otherwise.” There was no response to this so, after a beat, Sam continued.
“Anyways we both got a wee bit tipsy and she told me about the bird in the shower. Lord Peter evidently loved the shower and couldn’t get enough of it. I cracked up. The image of that bird taking a shower with Mabel was just too much.” He paused and stared into space.
“That was a long time ago she told me that.”
Sam took out his handkerchief and blew his nose. He swallowed a couple of times before continuing,“one night, about a week after she’d passed on, I heard all kinds of a racket coming from next door. It sounded like Lord Peter squawking his head off, but I couldn’t figure out what the heck was going on. I wasn’t about to knock on the door and find out. I couldn’t face that chap, especially knowing what I did.” Sam stopped his story and again stared into space as though he’d lost his train of thought.
“So? You heard Lord Peter carrying on. Did you ever find out the cause?”
“Well I’ve put two and two together, you see. Mabel’s husband died that night. The housekeeper found him dead next morning – the morning after the carrying on, I mean. She found him on the floor of the shower stall, the water running…” He paused again.
“They said he had a heart attack and I expect they’re right. The thing is that I wonder why he had a heart attack. They found bird feathers in the shower and the assumption was that they had been there for some time – from before Mabel died. I don’t think so though. The bird was gone you see. Flown right out the window it had.”
Edith stared at Sam with incredulity. “You think Lord Peter killed Mabel’s husband?”
“Makes sense doesn’t it? My guess is that he took Lord Peter into the shower with the intention of drowning him. That parrot hated the man and perhaps sensed that he’d killed Mabel – or perhaps the man suspected the bird knew and that he might talk. Lord Peter used to talk a lot in those days. I think he tried to get rid of the bird but, instead, something caused him to have a heart attack. Maybe the bird caused it in some way. Maybe it was an accident. I don’t know. Anyway, Lord Peter was rescued later from somebody’s back yard and ended up at ‘Tipps and Tails’.”
“And you think that’s why Lord Peter is traumatized by the sound of the shower?”
“That’s my theory.”
“But, Mother," Jeanette said when she next came to visit, "you don’t know a thing about him. This is just another of your irresponsible whims.”
“I’ve known him two weeks and that’s time enough. Anyway, Lord Peter chatters away to him. That bird is intelligent, and if he likes Sam that’s all I need to know.”
“But…”
“But nothing, Jeanette. Sam and I have both been lonely long enough, and we want to enjoy ourselves while we still can. With luck we have a good few years ahead of us, but one never knows…”
“Do you plan on marrying him?”
“Of course not. At our age what would be the point?”
“When I tell Arnie…”
“I hope he’ll congratulate us.”
It seemed mother and daughter had reached an impasse. Needing to fortify herself before the next onslaught of disapproval Edith rose to put the kettle on.
“Mom…”
Her reprieve had been short.
“Mom, I just need to ask you one question.”
“And what’s that?”
“Do Sam’s relatives like birds? I mean -- would they give him a home if the need should…? She gave an odd sort of choking noise. God, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.” Then a chuckle erupted from somewhere within Jeanette that had gone long unexplored. She stood up suddenly and put her arms around her mother. Edith’s shoulders began to shake, and the next moment the two women were doubled over in raucous laughter.
From his observation post atop the refrigerator, Lord Peter joined the ruckus. “Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, what a racket, what a racket.”
http://www.scrollinspace.com/article.php?story=20040709121134732