Wishbone Page 3

  I always left a little more depressed than when I arrived. I waved good-bye to Brenda, the receptionist, barely visible behind bullet-proof glass. A woman was leaving at the same time, so I held the door for her. Unlike the others, she made eye contact. She seemed familiar.

  “Meg?” she asked.

  My heart hammered a couple of panicked beats. My brain clicked like a computer, searching for her in my memory banks. Did I pick her up at Ezri? She wore a fleece jacket and jeans. Ah.

  “Wild turkey?” I asked. This was the last place I expected to run into her.

  Pam smiled and reintroduced herself as we made our way down the empty hallway to the main door. “What brings you here?” She eyed my uniform. “I know the kids can get wild, but surely this isn’t part of your job.”

  People usually didn’t talk about why they were in a DSS office, so she couldn’t be a social worker or birth parent. Plus, she was in way too good a mood.

  “I volunteer once a month to read to the toddler play group,” I said. “It’s my subversive way of preparing the next generation to love animals.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it would do. “What about you?”

  “I come for the foster parent support group.”

  A foster parent. The ground shifted beneath me, as though the floor tilted then righted itself and only I noticed. I pushed through the main door and held it for her. We both squinted from the bright sunlight as we went down the steps. I inhaled a deep breath of sunlight-warmed mud.

  “Have the turkeys been behaving?” I asked.

  “Better than Violet, I’m afraid,” she said with a sigh.

  “More ’spensions?”

  “No. School’s been fine. She saves it for home.”

  “That’s too bad.” Pam wasn’t the first foster parent I’d spoken to, so why was my heart doing a drumbeat, like a squirt of adrenaline had shot through me?

  As we reached the sidewalk, I contemplated the moment of decision. Part ways or keep it going? I opted for parting ways and glanced down the street toward my truck, but Pam apparently made a different decision.

  “Did you find out what happened to that turkey?” she asked.

  I drew my attention back to her. “I don’t have the necropsy results yet, but I’m pretty sure it was melicide.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise, then she wrinkled her brow. “Wait, melicide?”

  I smiled. “A little animal control humor. Meleagris gallopavo is the Latin name, so it’s the turkey version of homicide.”

  Pam’s laugh came from the heart, not manners. “I like that.” She brightened from the stressed woman I’d first met.

  We stood rooted to the sidewalk, neither breaking the slender connection. My pulse slowed. She made me curious, this pretty foster mother who disliked turkeys but lifted my mood. And who doesn’t like having her jokes appreciated? In that instant, I changed my mind about parting ways. “Have you had lunch yet? There’s a sand—we could grab—if you’re not—” Since my tongue wouldn’t work, I shut up.

  “Sure,” she said, without hesitation. “But aren’t you on duty?”

  “A girl’s gotta eat. As long as I have my radio on, I’m good.” I patted the mic on my shoulder.

  Pam threw me a sideways glance and slight grin. “So where’s this sand we can grab?”

  Humbled, I led her down the block to a small deli with the well-worn décor of a place adored by locals but spurned by the Starbucks crowd. Its handwritten signs, linoleum floor, and Formica tables meant good food at reasonable prices. I’m not one for small talk, so I left that to her.

  “What’s their specialty?” she asked, scanning the menu behind the counter.

  “Pretty much everything. Unless you’re a vegetarian,” I added, noticing they didn’t list anything without meat or tuna. Pam ordered a turkey club and I indulged my occasional craving for roast beef. We paid then went in search of seats. It was early and the place wasn’t crowded. I picked a table by the window. It would give us something to look at if the conversation died.

  “What made you want to go into animal control?” Pam asked as we settled in to wait for our orders. She leaned forward on her elbows.

  I leaned back. “Eh, too dumb to be a vet.”

  She gave me a stern look, one no doubt honed by Violet. “No, really.”

  “What can I say? I like animals better than people. It was an opportunity. I took it.” Time to steer the conversation off of myself. “Is Violet your foster child?”

  Pam fingered a curl at the back of her neck. “Yes, but I hope to adopt her. What about you? What made you want to volunteer at DSS?”

  I pulled a paper napkin out of the container on the table and tried to sound nonchalant. “I was in foster care as a kid.” I ripped off bits of napkin. “I like to give something back.” Again, not the whole truth.

  She appeared about to speak as our numbers were called. We both moved to get up, but I raised my hand. “I’ve got it.” While I crossed the shop, I took a deep breath to calm myself. What on earth had possessed me to ask this woman to lunch, in broad daylight, with sex not the goal of the encounter?

  I returned to the table and sorted out the sandwiches and drinks.

  “So talk turkey to me,” Pam said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve called and complained but nothing happens. How can we get rid of those infernal birds?”

  “You mean other than eat them?” I nodded toward her sandwich. She laughed, then her expression turned serious. “What do you want me to do? Post a keep out sign? They’re wild animals. You can’t expect them to obey local ordinances. You might embrace the concept that we’re doing something right if wildlife can come back into town.”

  She looked at me like she had been cheated by a card sharp. “That’s it? Live with them?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they are attacking us.”

  “They haven’t actually hurt anyone, have they? It’s breeding season. It’ll pass.”

  Pam lowered her sandwich and looked at me, stunned. “What kind of animal control officer are you?”

  “That’s only part of it. I consider myself an educator. My job is to help people understand that wild things in our midst aren’t such a bad thing.” Her look remained skeptical. “Have you ever seen a hawk sitting on a telephone pole?”

  She bit into her sandwich and nodded.

  “We almost wiped them out with DDT. Now falcons nest on skyscrapers, Boston Harbor has gone from one of the country’s dirtiest to one of the cleanest. It’s like the reverse of the canary in the coal mine—if we see turkeys, it means the environment is cleaner, healthier. Not just for them, but for us too.”

  Her expression softened into a kind of admiration. “You really like this stuff, don’t you?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “You must be good at it.” She took another bite without further explanation.

  We ate in silence for a few minutes. She wore one of those Irish Claddagh rings on her right hand and fingered it absently with her thumb.

  “What does an animal control officer do anyway? I mean besides tracking down turkey murderers.”

  I explained that I enforce the animal laws, care for lost pets, respond to calls about sick or injured wildlife. I skipped the part where I also euthanize animals that can’t be helped and clean up roadkill. Those are my least favorite duties.

  “It doesn’t sound like much fun. Especially if most of your calls are from grumps like me.”

  I almost said that if all the grumps were as pretty as her, my job would be a lot more fun. Instead, I said, “If you could see the look on a child’s face when I find her lost puppy, or the joy I get from finding a new home for an abandoned dog, you might understand. Just a little.”

  She smiled dreamily. “Yes, I think I can.”

  I had to look away. She was making my stomach do weird things.

  “Do you mind if I ask something rather personal?” she said.

  I met her gaze but had to look away again. “As long as you don’t mind if I don’t answer.” I braced myself, anticipating the inevitable, “What’s it like to be a foster child?”

  She leaned forward, attentive. “Fair enough. Are you gay?”

  I almost laughed out loud, but managed just to grin. “Shoot. That’s not what I expected.” I glanced around to see if anyone had heard her. No one seemed to have noticed. “Yeah.”

  Pam smiled mischievously and leaned back in her seat, visibly relaxing. Her eyes were brown, with beautiful gold flecks.

  “Do you always ask women that?”

  “Pretty much. My gaydar isn’t perfect, but I figure if a woman’s going to be insulted by the question, I’m not sure I’d want to have lunch with her. You can tell a lot about someone by the way they answer that.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “You, for example.”

  I swallowed but didn’t say anything. She gave a hint of a smile, disarming. “I’d say you are comfortable with yourself, but not being out in uniform. Am I right?”

  I picked up a fresh napkin. “You ever thought about police work?”

  She laughed and bit into her pickle but kept throwing me glances. She radiated a wholesome sex appeal that was refreshing.

  “Okay, my turn,” I said.

  She wiped her mouth and nodded with a grin. “That’s only fair.”

  “Who’s Lee?”

  Her smile vanished. “Colleen. Well, she was my partner.” Her mood visibly deflated.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged in an “it’s not important” way that told me it was a huge deal.

  “Would you rather not talk about it?”

  “Still a little too fresh. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I had no business asking.”
r />   “Sure you did. Fair is fair, and I didn’t have to answer. Just catches me off guard sometimes. So, tell me, what did you expect me to ask?”

  I told her how endlessly curious and inappropriate people can be when they meet a former foster child.

  “Ah. Well, you didn’t ask what I expected either.”

  “Which is?”

  “Whenever I tell people I’m a foster parent, they always respond with, ‘How wonderful, but I could never do that.’ Or, ‘God bless you, you’re a saint.’ Or, ‘Isn’t it heartbreaking?’ Something along those lines.”

  I sipped my Coke and glanced out the window. A man passed with a golden retriever on a leash. Instinctively, I assessed the animal. He looked happy, well fed, but not fat. I turned back to Pam. “So none of that’s true?”

  “Only the last one.”

  My thoughts tumbled. In the time it took to eat a sandwich, I’d learned that a woman I found attractive was single and a lesbian. And if I wasn’t mistaken, she seemed to like me. The thing was, I didn’t know what to do with that information.

  I wasn’t ready to let her disappear from my life, though. “Have you ever been to Drumlin Farm? I bet Violet would love it.”

  “I’ve heard of it, but no. I’m not sure where it is.”

  I explained it was out in Lincoln, run by the Massachusetts Audubon Society. “I’m going on Saturday. I have a friend who works there. You’re welcome to join me. Or meet me there.”

  “It’s a farm?”

  “It’s a working farm but it’s also a wildlife sanctuary. They have deer, foxes, hawks, even turkeys. All the animals have been injured in some way and can’t live in the wild, so they use them for education programs. You might learn something.”

  She eyed me suspiciously. I’d intended to sound teasing, but worried I’d pushed too hard. “It was just a suggestion.”

  Her expression softened. “I’m sorry. Thank you. Violet would enjoy it.”

  We finished eating, and I gave her my business card. “If anything comes up, you can call.”

  She ran her fingers over the type, Meg Myers, Animal Control, Brookline Police Department.

  “You don’t have to worry,” I said. “I volunteer at DSS and I’m a police officer. I’ve been background checked up the wazoo.”

  “And is Meg short for Margaret?”

  “Megan. No ‘h.’ ”

  “That’s pretty. All right, Megan, no ‘h,’ Myers. I’ll see you Saturday. Um . . . how do I get there?”

  “I could pick you up. You’re right on the way.” To my surprise, she agreed.

  THE NEXT MORNING, flipping through my mail, I came across an envelope from the Brookline Veterinary Clinic. I ripped it open. The postmortem on the turkey. As I suspected, a broken neck, no other trauma. Not the kind of damage a car would do. Time to question Mr. Fielding. I found his phone number, first name Evan, and ran a background check to make sure he wasn’t a wanted serial killer. Nothing, so I Googled him for anything else I should know. Shit. Worse than a serial killer, he was a town meeting member. Brookline had more than two hundred town meeting members, so the odds of running into one were pretty high, and every penny spent in this town got voted on by these citizens. Including my shelter if it made it to Town Meeting. Didn’t mean he got to break the law. I needed to find out if he killed the turkey, then I could assess any penalty. We played phone tag for a few hours, but eventually arranged a meeting.

  AS I PULLED my truck up to the curb in front of his house the next morning, I glanced across the street at Pam and Violet’s. I hadn’t paid a lot of attention to it when I was busy with the turkey. It looked cozy, a Craftsman-style bungalow with a porch across the front, thick columns, and a dormer. There was no sign of anyone. Violet was probably back in school. And why did I care?

  Evan Fielding answered his door and stepped out onto the small front porch. He must have been getting ready for work. He wore the pants to a gray suit but just an undershirt. I mentioned the turkey, and he looked confused.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I didn’t kill any turkey.”

  He didn’t sound defensive. So either a good liar or maybe innocent. I explained it had been found on his lawn. “Have you had any problems with turkeys?”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” he said. “Served it right if it got run over.”

  “This one wasn’t run over.”

  He shifted nervously. “All I did was defend myself. That thing was crazed.”

  “Did you take a swing at it?”

  “I might have. But I didn’t kill it. It ran away. Haven’t seen it since.”

  “That’s because it’s dead. You might not have killed it immediately, but it ended up dead on your property.”

  He folded his arms. “Oh. Well, good riddance if you ask me.”

  Graying at the temples, he looked old enough to know better. I explained the legalities of the situation.

  “Are you kidding? It’s just a bird. And a nuisance at that.” He shifted from foot to foot then stuck his hands in his pockets.

  I mentioned the fine ranged from three hundred to a thousand dollars, and his face reddened, right to his ears.

  He scratched the back of his neck and puffed out a breath. “I had no idea.”

  He probably didn’t, but perhaps his remorse was intended to avoid the fine and not because he had any respect for an animal’s life. “If you feel you are in danger, you should call the police. We can assess the threat. That’s not your job.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What happens now?”

  I pulled my ticket book from my pocket, biding my time. People will say anything to get out of a ticket, but he’d owned up to it. Didn’t make him a nice guy. It was my job to sort lies from truth. I cared more about whether he’d learned anything. I handed him a flyer on wild turkeys, then wrote out a warning. He didn’t breathe until he saw it wasn’t a citation. He might be ignorant, but he didn’t appear to be a criminal.

  “You know, killing them isn’t the answer,” I said. “More just move into the territory. It’s better to learn to get along. Don’t you think?”

  He stared at the paper. “I guess. It’s weird, though.”

  “Weird how?”

  “We eat them. Why can’t we kill them?”

  “Were you planning to eat that one? It ended up dead. A little kid found it.”