Ladies' Night by Andrews, Kay (popular books of all time .TXT) 📕

“Hey, son!” Nelson exclaimed, spying him. Sweetie stayed where she was, on full alert, growling menacingly.

“Dad?” Wyatt sank down onto the bench beside his father. “What’s going on?” He was out of breath, bewildered. “What are you doing out here?”

Nelson pointed into a clump of ferns and bromeliads ringing the aviaries. “I got the sumbitch. One clean shot. The second for insurance.”

Wyatt’s heart sank. For months now, the park had been the target of petty criminals. Twice, they’d managed to break into the gift shop, stealing less than fifty dollars’ worth of cash, some cases of coke, and some stale candy bars. Another time, they’d gone farther into the park and attempted to cut through the wire to steal the parrots, apparently thwarted by the hue and cry raised by Cookie and the others. Although Wyatt viewed the crimes as a nuisance, Nelson had been enraged at the idea of anybody breaching the admittedly lapse security at Jungle Jerry’s.

A dozen years earlier, they’d had the park wired for an alarm system and installed motion-detector cameras. Now, though, the technology was outdated and the cameras were inoperable. And they didn’t have the money to install a new security system.

For a week or so, after the last break-in, Nelson had taken to patrolling the grounds on the golf cart Wyatt used for landscaping, finally growing bored after encountering nothing more than a few errant fruit rats on his nocturnal rounds.

Had his father shot and killed some young punk? Wyatt took a deep breath. “Who’d you get, Dad? Where is he?”

“Over there,” Nelson gestured. “He slunk off into the ferns. See the blood? He’s dead, though. I guarantee you. I nailed the sumbitch.”

Wyatt’s stomach turned as he observed the fine spatter of bloodstains on the crushed-shell walkway. He stood, and Sweetie took that as a signal to advance. She crept forward, her round belly scraping the sand, her nose sweeping back and forth. Five yards from the clump of ferns, she sat straight up on her haunches and growled again.

He held his breath as he played his flashlight over the greenery. Sweetie stayed close to his side on high alert. Finally, he saw where the trail of crimson ended. At first he thought it was a clump of Spanish moss. But as he grew closer, he spied a muzzle in a ghostly shade of gray, and then what looked like the emaciated body of a dog. He turned and glanced back at his father, who’d risen on shaking legs to follow them to the spot.

“What the hell is that?” Even as he said it, he realized what the form was.

“Coyote,” Nelson said grimly. He turned and pointed to an aviary at the edge of the amphitheater. The wire door was ajar and the tree-limb perch was vacant. Brilliant red and yellow scarlet macaw feathers littered the cage floor. “Sumbitch got Heckel and Jekyll. I’m sorry, son.”

The two macaws were the park’s most senior residents, having been bought by Wyatt’s grandfather in the late sixties. At one time they’d been a featured attraction in the parrot show, but now the colorful birds were officially retired from active duty. Wyatt patted his father’s shoulder. “Not your fault, Dad. I’d heard about coyote sightings in and around town, but for some reason it never occurred to me they might turn up here.”

“The hell it wasn’t my fault,” Nelson said gruffly. “I’m the one who fed all the birds today. I guess I must have left the macaws’ cage unlatched. They were so old and lazy, it probably never occurred to them to try to fly away. The damned coyote had already finished ’em both off by the time I heard Cookie screaming and got over here on the cart.”

Wyatt went to Cookie’s cage, unlocked it, and reached in. He extended his hand and the bird gingerly walked up his arm to his shoulder. “Hey, Cookie,” he said. “You’re one hell of an alarm system.” The gray parrot cocked its head and seemed to wink at him. “Gimme a beer,” she said. He fished in his pocket and brought out a bird treat instead. “Performance bonus,” Wyatt said. When the parrot finished chewing, Wyatt placed her back in the aviary and locked and double-checked it. Then, he walked around and checked the other cages. Marilyn and Lana, the cockatoos, were huddled together in the far corner of their cage, and Elvis, the huge blue and gold macaw, improbably, seemed to be sleeping.

“Okay, everybody’s safe and accounted for,” he said finally. “C’mon, Dad, it’s late. Let’s go home. I’ll come back in the morning and bury the coyote.” Wyatt took the shotgun from his father and placed it in the cargo hold of the cart, then climbed behind the wheel. Sweetie hopped up onto the bench seat beside him.

Nelson lowered himself into the cart, looking down at the dog in surprise. “Who’s this?”

“This is Sweetie,” Wyatt said, backing the cart up and heading down the path toward the house. “She’s gonna be staying with us for a while.” He reached over and ruffled the dogs’ ears. “I think she’ll fit in nicely around here, don’t you?”

The old man regarded the dog with a practiced eye. “Got a lot of poodle in her. Maybe some schnauzer or cocker spaniel. Poodles used to be great hunting dogs, before they started being bred as silly show dogs. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” Wyatt said.

“Where’d you say you got her?”

“A woman in my divorce-recovery group found her in an abandoned house. She’s living with her mom right now, over in Cortez, but the health regs don’t allow a dog to live in a bar, so I said Sweetie could stay with us until Grace moves into her own place.”

“Cortez?”

“Yeah. Her parents own the Sandbox. You remember that place?”

“Sure. Used to take you there when you were a little kid, after we’d been over at Holmes Beach. You used to love their cheeseburgers. This Grace, is she Butch Davenport’s