“Come on, Max. We’re in Kentucky. Tea only comes sweet here!”
He grins. “Then tea it is.”
My heartbeat speeds up, but I don’t know if it’s from his smile or from fear. And while I fill the glass with ice and tea, I ask myself how much I really fear Max.
Did he kill Mr. Pak? Would he hurt—kill—me?
What shocks me most is my lack of instant reaction. I glance over my shoulder and watch him study my lists. His expression is serious, intent. But at the same time, his posture is relaxed. He doesn’t exactly give off murderous vibes.
Besides, he’d have to be Oscar-worthy to pull off the gem-dunce act. To want those legendary rubies, you have to know your gems. And ignorance of gemological data doesn’t necessarily equal murderous tendencies.
I put his glass down on the counter, and to gain some time, I reach for a paper towel to wipe it off.
“Here you go.” I put the glass within easy reach. “I see you’ve been looking at my lists. What do you think?”
“You’re pretty thorough.”
“So you don’t think I missed anything.”
“Not that I can see. But there’s still nothing here to go on.”
“That’s the problem.”
“And there’s no way to know if Pak is the Thai equivalent of Jones or Brown.”
“Exactly. I’ve thought of calling the Thai embassy, but what do I say? ‘Hi. Your citizen was killed in our vault, and I want to talk to his wife about him.’ I can see them sending out the loony-tunes patrol for me.”
“You’re right. It won’t fly.” He picks up one of my lists, takes a sip of tea. “How about tracking down the bird?”
“I thought about that, Max. Mr. Pak couldn’t have brought the parrot from Thailand. There are strict export rules, and since that whole bird flu scare popped up, you can bet no Asian bird is getting in this country without every health expert checking it out. Besides, I don’t know if they have tropical parrots in Thailand.”
“That means he bought it here. Can you check bird . . . what? Farms? Hatcheries?”
I chuckle. “I think hatcheries are for fish, not necessarily eggs. And I tried to Google parrot breeders. Guess what? I got 35,200 sites! I don’t think either you or I will live long enough to check them all out.”
“True, but where did Mr. Pak go? I mean, how long had he been in the country? And what airport did he go through? Since he must have bought the bird here, I don’t think he would have traveled far from the airport where he arrived.” “Good point, but good luck trying to get any info on incoming passengers. There’s something called Homeland Security, remember?”
“There is that.” He takes another sip of tea, then returns to the lists. “How about your old boss? Wouldn’t he be a good one to talk to? You said he’s the one who introduced you to Mr. Pak. He must know something.”
“That’s where I went after we landed from Myanmar.”
Should I mention the
“He hadn’t? That’s strange. You told Chief Clark about the connection between the two of them. I was there. Why wouldn’t the cops question him?”
“Hey, I asked the chief that very same thing. It did nothing for him. He said he had plenty to investigate here.”
“That’s crazy. And didn’t he mention the FBI?”
“No, I did. But he brought up Interpol. Where are all those guys?”
He shrugs. “Interagency jealousy?”
“Beats me.”
“Maybe they’ve been staking him out without anyone knowing.”
“Maybe, but that sounds a little too James Bondish to me. All I know is that there’s a dead man in the picture. That should trump all the other garbage.”
“I know the chief’s your father’s friend—”
“So he says, but I’ve never even heard of him.”
“Anyway, your aunt seems to like him, and she’s okay by me. I have to wonder if he’s really that much of a good ol’ boy cartoon character. What if he’s really doing his job, and lets everyone think he’s kind of slow?”
“I don’t think he’s slow, just nasty. He thinks I’m behind all this, and there’s no way! Besides, the FBI hasn’t even talked to me. Doesn’t that smell fishy to you?”
“Maybe they’re staking you out too. And maybe that’s the first thing we should look into. Has it been reported to the right authorities? And if not, then why not?”
