Ask the Parrot

8

Several cars were in the Grange Hall parking lot, left by people doubling into another team member’s car, as Thiemann had done. It looked as though no one else had come back yet. Among the vehicles parked here was a state police car. Seeing it, Parker said to Lindahl, “You talk to the trooper. I’ll go with Fred to his car. Fred took sick after we checked out the railroad station. Nobody there.”

“Okay.”

The trooper was getting out of his car. It was the older one with the braid, who’d addressed the group before. Lindahl steered around to park next to Thiemann’s Taurus, then they all got out onto the blacktop.

As Lindahl went off to talk with the trooper, Thiemann fumbled in his pocket for his keys, finally got them out, then couldn’t get his fingers to work well enough to push the button that would unlock the doors. “Damn. I can’t—”

“Give it to me.”

Thiemann looked at Parker and didn’t want to hand over his keys, but then he did. Parker buzzed the doors open and looked past the SUV hood to where Lindahl and the trooper were talking. Lindahl seemed to be doing the job right, with no problem from the trooper.

Thiemann opened the driver’s door, then stood looking confused. “I should be on the other side,” he said.

“I’ll get your rifle,” Parker said.

“No!”

It was a sharp response, loud enough to make both Lindahl and the trooper look this way. Calm, quiet, Parker said, “You want to leave it with Tom?”

Thiemann blinked, and nodded. “For now,” he said. “Yeah, just for now. I’ll pick it up . . . sometime.”

“I’ll tell him. You get in on the other side, I’ll be right back.”

“Yes, okay.”

Carrying Thiemann’s car keys, Parker walked over to Lindahl and the trooper, who were both still looking this way. “Afternoon,” he said to the trooper.

“Afternoon. Everything all right there?”

“No, Fred’s all loused up.”

Lindahl said, “You ask me, he’s got Lyme disease.”

“Well, we’ve got a lot of that around here,” the trooper said.

“Headache,” Parker said, “and a lot of confusion. I’m gonna drive him home.”

“Good idea.”

“Tom, he says you should hold on to his rifle, he’ll pick it up later.” Parker shrugged, and offered the trooper a faint grin. “That was the ‘no’ he shouted,” he said. “I think he’s afraid he might accidentally shoot himself.”

“Stumble with a rifle in your hands,” the trooper said. “It’s happened.”

“Tom, you ready to follow me?”

“I think so. Okay, Captain?”

“Fine,” the trooper said. “Thank you for your help.”

“Anytime,” Lindahl told him.

They started away, and the trooper called, “Tell your friend to get tested. You don’t fool with Lyme disease.”

“I’ll tell him,” Lindahl promised.

They walked on, and Parker said quietly, “I guess that’s some sort of local disease around here.”

“You get it from a tick in the woods,” Lindahl told him. “It’s a very mean disease. But you know, I bet Fred would rather have that right now than what he’s got.”