The Wooden Sea Read Free

anything about birds?"

    "Birds? Jeez, I don't know. Why? What about èm?"

    "What kind of bird would have feathers about ten inches long and be incredibly colorful?"

    "A peacock?"

    "I thought of that, but I don't think so. I know what a peacock feather looks like. This isn't it.
    Peacock feathers are more symmetrical in their marking.
    They have that big circle on them too.
    This isn't one."

    _"What _isn't? What are you talking about?"

    I snapped out of it, realizing I was thinking out loud as I stared at the feather. "Nothing. I'll check with you later."

    "Frannie?"

    "Yes?"

    "Put the dog in the oven."

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    I hung up.

    How could so many colors exist on one thin feather? I couldn't stop looking at the damned thing but knew I had to get moving. Outside again, a couple of the kids from before were still standing around, probably hoping for more Schiavo fireworks. I asked if they'd seen anyone leave the house before I arrived. They said no. When I told them the place was empty they couldn't believe it.

    "There's got to be someone in there, Mr. McCabe. You shoulda heard them screaming!

    I took out a pack of cigarettes and offered them around. "What'd they say?"

    The kid took a light from me and blew out a line of smoke. "Nothin'
    special. She was calling him an asshole and a creep. But loud. Whoa, _loudl _You could have heard her downtown."

    "And him? Did Donald say anything?"

    The other kid lowered his voice four octaves and got a look on his face like he was about to be the life of the party. _"Bitch! _Fock you, stupid _jical _I do what the fock I wan'!"

    _"Fie?"_

    "Pica. It means, you know, pussy in Italian."

    "What would I do without you guys? Listen, if you see either of them come back, call me on this number." I handed one my card.

    "What's that?" He pointed to the feather.

    "Beautiful, huh? I found it on their floor." I held it up. We all silently admired it.

    "Maybe they were doing something in there with feathers, you know, like kinky." The boy beamed.

    "You know, when I was a kid, the kinkiest thing I ever heard about was people dressing up in leather suits and whipping each other. I almost had a heart attack. But you guys know more now than Alex
    Comfort."

    "Who's he?"

    Back in the car, I slid the feather carefully under the sunshade over the driver's seat. Why was the front door of their house open? And the back door?
    No one leaves their doors open anymore, not even in Crane's View. Donald Schiavo worked as a mechanic at Birmfion Motors. I called there and talked to a secretary who said he'd gone out for lunch four hours ago and hadn't come back. The boss was mad because Donald had a four-by-four still up on the rack and the customer was waiting.

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    I shrugged it off. The Schiavos were somewhere. They would turn up.
    Driving home, I tried to remember where in the garage I had put the shovel.

    An hour later I struck another tree root and flipped out. Flinging the shovel away, I put a filthy hand in my mouth and bit myself. I hadn't been this frustrated in ten weeks, give or take a few.
    My plan had been so simple: Drive down to the river, find a nice spot, dig Old Vertue a hole, drop him in, sweet dreams, go back to the office. But I'd forgotten they were laying pipe by the river and what with all the men and equipment around, it was no place for a dead dog and me.

    So I drove around in those big dark woods way back behind the Tyndall house and looked till I found a prime place. Sunlight danced down through the leaves. It was quiet except for gusts of wind through the leaves and birds singing. The air smelled of summer and earth.

    I was in such a good mood that I started singing "Hi-ho, Hi-ho, it's off to work we go" as I stabbed the shovel into the soft ground. Five minutes later I hit the first root, which turned out to be as thick as the underground monster in _Tremors.
    _Undeterred (Hi-ho, Hi-ho), I shrugged and began digging in another place. But it turned put, gee whiz, there