The Magician's Bird (12 page)

“Okay, so we've verified that there are two birds,” Bud said, pacing. Laurie opened her mouth. “Or at least that there are two birds
posing
as the Marchetti Bird. Because everybody knows the real bird is one of a kind,” Bud hurried to finish.

Laurie shut her mouth.

“Now, thanks to Misti, we have that much to go on.” Bud couldn't help but grin. “So you really decked him?” Bud was impressed. He'd never considered just hauling off and slugging LeFranco, but in retrospect, it was genius. He had to hand it to Misti.

“It wasn't on
purpose
,” Misti said, flopping down on the couch. “It was an accident. But that was definitely the bird under there. Or whatever he's calling the bird. I still think our guy is real. Can't you guys feel it?” She patted the Marchetti Bird on the head and then tweaked its beak affectionately. “Ours has a presence, and his is just a bird.”

“Yeah, but we have to prove it,” Laurie said, eyeing the bird suspiciously. The whole morning had really thrown her.

“So basically, our options are to expose LeFranco as a fraud, or get our bird to do his bird things. Or both,” Bud went on. “Preferably both.”

Laurie snorted. “Oh, is that all? No problem.”

Bud was going to wear out the carpet if he kept up all that pacing stuff.

Laurie had been trying to figure out how to make the bird work ever since Misti had called. And as far as she'd been able to tell, there were no secret buttons, levers, panels, keyholes, or anything anywhere on the bird they
had. It was just a solid-looking bird.

Misti squinted up at the ceiling. “How long do lightbulbs last, usually?”

“Lightbulbs? What the heck, Misti? This is serious!” Bud tried to keep his voice calm. They didn't have time to waste goofing around if they wanted to figure this thing out.

“As I see it, we've got two big problems. We can't be here trying to get the bird to work if we're trying to figure out what LeFranco is up to, and we can't be figuring out what LeFranco is up to if we're in here messing with the bird.”

“True.” Laurie stood up. “But you're forgetting our secret weapon.”

Bud blinked. They had a secret weapon? “Which is?”

Laurie smiled. “Miss Lucille.”

Headline in the late edition of the
Daily Herald

Miss Lucille was building something out of Popsicle sticks at the checkout desk in the library.

“I don't know if I'd really call Miss Lucille a secret weapon,” Bud said as they peeked through the library window.

Laurie eyed the Popsicle sticks doubtfully. They didn't scream “helpful source of information.” Or even “competent adult.”

“She's the closest thing we've got,” Laurie said. “And
she knew Maria Tutweiler. Maybe she knew Alphonse Marchetti too? It's worth a shot.” Laurie took a deep breath and pulled open the library door.

Talking to Miss Lucille wasn't her favorite thing to do. No matter what she went in to talk about, it always ended up the same way—with Miss Lucille comforting her and patting her hands. The last time she'd been in there, the book she'd wanted to check out was listed as lost, and Miss Lucille had asked if Laurie was okay or if she needed to call her mother and go home.

“Here goes nothing,” Laurie muttered, putting on a big happy smile and marching into the library.

Laurie's face was getting tired. She'd been smiling for what felt like twenty years, and Miss Lucille hadn't even looked up from her stupid Popsicle sticks. The library probably did get pretty boring during the summer, but still . . . Popsicle sticks?

Laurie felt her cheek twitch. She couldn't keep it up much longer.

“Hey, Miss Lucille,” she said finally.

“It's a little house for Ponch and Jon, dear. Their new habitat is nice, but they don't have a place for quiet reflection.” Well, that answered that question.

“Um, yeah.” Laurie glanced at Ponch and Jon, who were pushing all of their cedar chips into one corner of their cage in an attempt to make a jailbreak. Laurie hoped Miss Lucille didn't turn her back on them too often. Laurie was pretty sure just one of them could take her down.

“So that newspaper article, huh?” Laurie shifted her weight. “What do you think about that?”

Miss Lucille stuck the Popsicle-stick walls together. “What article is that, dear?”

“You know. LeFranco. Talking about Maria Tutweiler?”

Miss Lucille made a harrumphing noise. It was the most un-Miss Lucille-sounding noise Laurie had ever heard come out of her. “So you don't think it's true?”

“Of course not, it's ridiculous.” Miss Lucille put the glue back down on the counter and looked at Laurie. “Anyone who knew her knows it's utter nonsense.”

Laurie felt herself relax. She hadn't even realized how tense this whole thing had gotten her. “Really? That's great! I didn't think she could've murdered anybody either.”

Miss Lucille gave her a strange look. “Oh, I don't know if she murdered anyone. Never said a thing to
me about it, if she did. But I'm talking about that bird. The idea that Maria Tutweiler would put such a valuable bird on a shelf in a storage room? Ridiculous. She had a respect for property, you know.”

Laurie's heart sank. That wasn't exactly what she'd been hoping to hear.

“So the whole bird thing is what's ridiculous?”

“Oh yes, absolutely untrue. Absolutely.”

“But not the murder part?” Bud finally said. Laurie was glad he'd decided to speak up instead of just standing there like a lump of clay the whole time.

“Well, I certainly wouldn't know about that, would I?” Miss Lucille said, carefully moving the Popsicle house over to a shelf to dry.

“Did you know Alphonse Marchetti?” Bud said, shoving Laurie to the side. She looked like she was in the early stages of a freakout, and they didn't have time for that. They could worry about Miss Lucille's weird and twisted ethical standards later on.

“Briefly.” Miss Lucille nodded. “You must remember, I was just a young girl then.”

Bud nodded. “But you saw him and the bird?”

“Oh, yes, charming man. Beautiful manners, and so talented! He could do such wonderful illusions, it was amazing. And then when he disappeared . . .” Miss Lucille darted a look at Laurie.

Oh, no, Laurie thought. Here it comes. If there was one thing to bring you back from the edge of a freakout, it was someone else losing it.

“And they said that he'd . . .” Miss Lucille grabbed Laurie's hand and started patting it. “I'm so sorry, dear,
but they said he'd . . . passed on.”

Laurie sighed and nodded. “Yes, I know. It's okay, Miss Lucille.”

“You poor dear. You poor, poor dear.” Miss Lucille smiled at her, misty-eyed.

“It's really okay. We really wanted to know about the bird, mostly. Did you see him use it?”

Miss Lucille brightened, but she kept rubbing Laurie's hand. It was starting to turn an interesting shade of pink.

“Oh, yes, it's an amazing bird. So beautiful, the light seems to shimmer off its body. And when it spreads its wings and sings? You never heard anything more lovely.” She sighed happily.

Bud took a step closer. “Do you know how he made the Marchetti Bird work?”

“Oh, yes,” Miss Lucille said, patting Laurie on the arm. Laurie flexed her hand in relief.

“You do?” she gasped.

“Of course I do. It was hardly a secret!” Miss Lucille laughed happily.

Bud and Laurie exchanged a hopeful glance. “Really? You know how it worked?”

“How to make it sing and all that? Everything?” Bud added.

“Oh, yes.” Miss Lucille nodded. “Of course!”

“Could you tell us?” Laurie asked. She was almost afraid to breathe.

“Of course I can.” Miss Lucille smiled at them and leaned in. “It was
magic
.”

“What?” Bud's voice was flat. She had to be kidding.

“It was magic. Alphonse Marchetti was a magician, you know. He made no bones about it. Magic was what made his bird special.”

“Oh, well then.” Bud felt like kicking the chair, but since Miss Lucille was sitting in it, he stopped himself. “There you go, Laurie. Magic. Don't know why we didn't think of it.”

“Stuff it, Bud,” Laurie muttered under her breath. She smiled at Miss Lucille. “So, magic, great. Do you know how to work magic?” She figured it was worth a shot.

Miss Lucille laughed and got up. “Now, do I look like a magician?”

In a word, no.

“Well, thanks, Miss Lucille,” Laurie said gloomily. It had been their best shot. And it was gone.

“Any luck?”

“Nope.” Misti was sitting with the Marchetti Bird
on her lap. “You?”

“Nope.” Laurie flopped down onto the uncomfortable couch next to her. “Miss Lucille did tell us the trick to the Marchetti Bird, though.”

Misti perked up. “What is it?”

“Magic,” Bud said, waggling his fingers at Misti in what he figured was a magical way.

“Oh, well that explains it, then,” Misti said, petting the bird on the head and bopping it on the nose twice as she plunked it down on the coffee table. “I'm not magic.”

Laurie frowned. “Good grief, Misti, it's a bird, not a drum set.”

Misti shrugged her off and picked up the piece of paper. “What's this?”

Laurie waved her hand at it. “Nothing, just another message from the ‘friend.' It was waiting for us.”

Misti read it. “Are you guys going to answer it?”

Bud shook his head and examined the Marchetti Bird. “Nope.”

Misti scowled. “You're not even
CURIOUS
?”

“It's just from some creep!” Laurie said. “Probably some jerk like Calliope!”

“Yeah, about that.” Bud cleared his throat.

“What?” Laurie's voice was low and threatening. She
and Calliope didn't do well together.

Bud perched on the chair. “Okay, this is how I see things. Tell me if I'm wrong.”

Laurie and Misti exchanged a doubtful glance. This didn't sound good.

“We need to figure out the bird, right?” Bud started.

“No duh, Bud, save us the speech. You've said this all before. We know. We need to figure out the bird and figure out LeFranco and we suck at both. Now cut to the chase.”

“We need help,” Bud said.

“No duh.” If Laurie hadn't been in a secret room closed up for a gazillion years, she would've thrown a tasseled pillow at him. But you just can't chuck pillows that have been closed up in a secret room, no matter how much you want to.

“I think I know where we can get it. Help, I mean.” Bud had that shifty-eyed look on his face. Laurie didn't like it.

“The friend from the note?” Misti said cautiously.