McNally's Puzzle Read Free Page A

alert. A sharp customer, I reckoned.
    We introduced ourselves and shook hands. His clasp was dry and firm. He saw me glance at the caged parrot behind his desk.
    “Name is Ralph,” Mr. Gottschalk said. “Give him a hello.”
    “Hello, Ralph,” I said pleasantly.
    “Go to hell,” the bird said.
    I glared at him and he glared right back.
    “Did you teach him that?” I asked Hiram.
    “Not me,” he said. “Unsociable critter. No manners at all. Pull up a chair.”
    I sat alongside his desk, trying not to look at Ralph, who continued to eye me balefully.
    “Tell me something, Hi,” I said. “Do parrots mimic human speech naturally or must they be taught?”
    “Generally,” he said, “they require endless repetition. Audiotapes help. But then, occasionally, they’ll surprise you by repeating something they’ve heard only once.”
    “A word or phrase? Something simple?”
    “Not always,” he said. “Here’s a story for you.... A few years ago a very proper matron came in with a blue-fronted Amazon. Nothing wrong with the bird—it was gorgeously colored—but she had purchased it from a seafaring man in Key West, and apparently he had thought it a great joke to teach the female parrot to say, ‘I’m a whore.’
    “Naturally the new owner was much disturbed and asked if there was any way to rid her pet of this distressing habit. I told her it was doubtful but by a curious coincidence we were boarding two macaws belonging to a man of God who was then on a religious retreat in Scranton. The minister’s two birds were extremely devout and spent all their time reciting prayers they had obviously learned from their owner.
    “I suggested to the matron that her profane bird be placed in the same cage with the two pious macaws, where she might learn to temper her language. The matron eagerly agreed, and that’s what we did.
    “The moment the three birds were joined, the female blue-fronted Amazon screeched, ‘I’m a whore, I’m a whore.’ And you know, one of the macaws turned to the other and said, ‘Glory be, Charley, our prayers are answered.’”
    Mr. Gottschalk stared at me, absolutely po-faced. “Isn’t that a fascinating story?” he asked.
    “Remarkable,” I said, just as solemnly. “Quite remarkable. And did the three parrots live happily ever after—an avicultural ménage à trois , so to speak?”
    “Something like that,” he said, and we nodded thoughtfully at each other.
    “Got a lot of parrot stories,” he went on. “Things you might find hard to believe. They’re very intelligent birds. Some can imitate a dog barking or a faucet dripping. Many researchers think they’re smarter than chimps or dolphins. I’ve known budgerigars who could recite nursery rhymes or indecent limericks. My daughters are in Europe right now—they’ll be home in a few days—and they wrote me how amazed they were to find parrots who spoke French, Italian, or Spanish. What’s amazing about that? The birds will imitate the sounds they’re taught. I once heard of a lorikeet who could mimic a police siren. But enough about parrots. That’s not why you came to see me, is it, Archy.”
    “No, sir,” I said. “My father tells me you feel your life is in danger.”
    “Not just feel it,” he said decisively. “I know it. No threatening letters or phone calls, you understand, but several things I don’t like.”
    “Such as?”
    “My dear wife departed this vale of tears three years ago. I kept a framed photograph of us on my bedside table. It was taken at an outdoor cafe on the Cap d’Antibes. We were both young then, laughing, holding our wineglasses up to the camera. A lovely photo. I cherished it. The last thing I saw before sleep and the first thing I looked for in the morning. About a month ago I returned home to find the glass shattered and the photograph slashed to ribbons.”
    I drew a deep breath. “Ugly,” I said.
    He nodded. “A week later I opened my closet door to find a mass card