By Donna Andrews
Whilst her outdated pal Karen drops through along with her two-year-old son, Meg Langslow reluctantly has the same opinion to brain him for a couple of hours. the following morning, while Karen remains to be MIA, Meg retraces her friend’s footsteps and begins to suspect that her disappearance is associated with not less than one critical crime. Has Karen been killed or abducted? Is she at the run? What’s the tale together with her ex-husband Jasper? The police don’t appear to care…So now it’s as much as Meg to crack the case—no small activity when you think about she’s additionally facing a home jam-packed with reptilian visitors courtesy of pop and Grandpa, wondering beginning a relatives of her personal with new husband Michael, and chasing after a two-year-old who doesn’t keep in mind that the undesirable men may be after him subsequent.
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Extra resources for Cockatiels at Seven (Meg Langslow Mysteries)
He was almost telling the truth. He was just sitting under the desk, clutching Kiki and gently poking at my ankles with his foot. But as I bent down, pretending to check on him, I turned the notebook page I’d been writing in so I’d have a clean sheet. “We’re leaving in a second,” I said. I quickly scribbled a note to Karen: Karen—hi! Dropped by with Timmy. Please call me to let me know where I should bring him. I added my home and cell phone numbers and underlined the word “please” several times.
Fortunately, before Michael raced off to his day’s meetings, I managed to ingest enough food and caffeine to fuel my morning with Timmy. Transferring him from pajamas to day clothes, accompanied by a change of diaper, took over half an hour. Rob showed up about the time I had Timmy theoretically presentable for meeting the outside world. This was early for Rob to be up and about, which probably meant that he’d slept upstairs in his sleeping bag. Well, at least he was handy. “Here,” I said, turning Timmy over to Rob.
I think Karen met him when he fixed her computer. Look, something’s happened to Karen, hasn’t it? ” The chief frowned for a moment. “Try calling her again,” he said. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Karen’s number. I could hear her phone ringing in stereo— from my own cell phone, and from a nearby cruiser. “Chief,” one of the officers called. “The cell phone we found—” “Just ignore it,” the chief called back. “You can hang up now,” he said to me. I ended the call. The ringing in the cruiser stopped.
Cockatiels at Seven (Meg Langslow Mysteries) by Donna Andrews