“I want to know what this man said to this woman.”
After watching the scene three times, Rebel sat back with a frustrated sigh. “This one is tough,” he said. “The man is whispering, like he doesn’t want anyone else to overhear him.”
“You can tell that?” Sanchez asked.
“By the shape of his mouth,” Rebel said. “And notice how the woman didn’t react. She might not have caught what he said.”
Hammer nodded. Again that matched what June Latham had told them.
“The only thing I’m confident of,” Rebel continued, “is he says, ‘June.’ You know, like the month of the year. Sorry. I’m sure that doesn’t help you at all.”
THE NEXT EVENING, June pushed open the door to her condo, incredibly glad to be home. Maybe now she could stop obsessing about Detective Hammer and his murder investigation.
It’d been a hectic day, full of her worry about traumatized patients, their demanding parents, a dead body.
She loved her job, and still hoped for acceptance to the veterinary school at the University of Florida, but today she wondered about that goal. It always seemed so ironic that Dr. Trujillo’s mission was to help animals when most of her patients were terrified of her. June wasn’t sure she wanted animals she loved cowering in the corner when she entered a room.
Lazarus shrieked from the balcony aviary, reacting to her arrival. June hurried over to check on him and found him hanging upside down from his favorite branch by one claw, his brilliant scarlet plumage iridescent in the late-afternoon sun.
“Hello, my lovely,” she said.
Her answer was a loud guttural squawk.
“I’m glad to see you, too,” she said. She slid open the glass door, stepping into the humid, oxygen-rich atmosphere of the aviary. Definitely warmer without the air-conditioning, but shaded and entirely pleasant. Probably very similar to the jungle in Peru where this macaw had been captured.
Lazarus flapped his huge wings and righted himself, but didn’t take flight. He could have, though. She’d turned most of the balcony, which wrapped around the top floor of the thirty-story Enclave, into an aviary for the birds she rescued. She’d enclosed the space with parrot-proof screening and crammed it with trees, water features and interesting toys for her patients to amuse themselves. Lazarus was the only bird in residence right now, which was rare. She usually nursed at least two injured birds back to health at any given time. He’d be rehabbed enough to go to a permanent sanctuary somewhere soon, and while that thought should make her happy, instead it depressed her.
She was getting too attached. That happened when she cared for a bird too long. But she never kept a patient no matter how much she loved it, believing birds should always fly free when they were physically able.
While Lazarus squawked his encouragement, she changed the plastic floor protection and gave him a new supply of black oil sunflower seeds. She cleaned the huge aviary every day, not only for the health of the birds but to avoid complaints from the condo association wing nuts. There were some who didn’t appreciate her rehab clinic.
When done, she stepped close to stroke the macaw’s soft feathers. “Good boy,” she murmured when he didn’t back away. Only recently had he allowed her to touch him. Lazarus was definitely getting better. She knew she couldn’t save every bird, but this one at least should have a happy life from now on.
If Detective Hammer had agreed to confiscate the birds from the pet shop, she could have saved them, too. She flashed to his murder investigation and the photo of the dead man, something she couldn’t stop doing since the interview in Dr. Trujillo’s office yesterday.
Person of interest, indeed.
Lazarus made a chortling sound and ducked his head into her hand, wanting more, which pleased June.
“I know, Laz, I know. I need to stop thinking about that mean ol’ detective.”
The phone rang, and she stepped back inside to answer, sliding the door shut behind her with a last look at the preening macaw.
“Girl, whatever you’re doing tomorrow night, cancel,” a familiar female voice said after her hello.
June collapsed onto her sofa, settling in for a chat with her best friend from high school, Sandy Taylor. It’d been a while. “Why? What’s going on?”
“A party at the Turf Club. And not just any party, the annual Labor Day costume gala.”
“The Turf Club? You know I’m not a member anymore.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’ll come as my guest. Donna is in town from Atlanta visiting her mom, so I’m rounding up the old gang for a mini reunion.”
“Seriously?”
“Donna and Carole are both on board. You have to come.”
“Well, I really don’t have to,” June said, not sure she wanted to and scrambling for an excuse. A reunion with her wealthy Pinecrest Prep friends could be fun—or it could be disastrous. A painful reminder of what she had lost.
“Yes, you do. Remember the outfits we wore Halloween our senior year?”
“How could I forget? We almost got suspended by Dean Holly when we entered the gym.”
“That’s the exact look I want all of us to rock tomorrow night.”
“High-class hookers at the stuffy Turf Club? No way.”
Sandy laughed, a carefree sound from a beautiful young woman with absolutely no problems. Funny how their lives had taken such different directions. They’d once been so close they pretended to be sisters.
“I can’t wait to shake the place up,” Sandy said. “You know it’s just what that boring group needs.”
June remained silent. No, she didn’t really know. She hadn’t stepped on the property since her parents were arrested.
“Come on, Junie. It’ll be fun. Say you’ll join us.”
“What does your prim and proper husband say about this plan?”
“Paul will love the idea. He’s always said he decided to marry me that very Halloween night.”
“We did look good.”
“We’ll look even better now that we’re not awkward teenagers.”
“You were never awkward, Sandy.”
“That’s true. But I fill out the dress better now.”
And there was the excuse June needed. “Sorry, but I didn’t keep that costume.”
“Of course not. I’m sending you one identical to mine.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Oh, stop it with the false pride,” Sandy said. “I want us to be twins just like in the old days.”
“Sandy, really, I—”
“I need you to do this for me, Junie,” Sandy said, an edge creeping into her voice.
“What’s wrong?”
After a pause, Sandy said, “My perfect marriage is falling apart.”
June sucked in a breath. So much for her envy of Sandy’s glamorous life. “Oh, God, Sandy. I’m sorry. What—”
“It’s not hopeless, but I need to spice things