Home Free - Fern Michaels [108]
He wasn’t sure now, but he thought he’d had the shakes, the crawlies, the hallucinations for a full week before he had shed all the bad toxins from his system. Then he’d reared up like a gladiator and taken a few steps into the land of the living. After which he took a few more steps and headed for the mainland, where he ordered all the lumber and nails he would need to redo his house, which he worked on from sunup to sundown. He’d made two more trips to order furniture, generators, appliances, a new laptop, a printer, scanner, cell phone, and anything else he thought he might need to make his life easier. The renovation took eleven months. He now had a skimpy front porch, with a swing and a chair. He’d christened the finished product with a bottle of apple cider. He’d even given his new abode a name. He called it Tick’s Tree House because he’d rebuilt the structure on stilts. He loved it as much as he could love anything these days.
Tick started up the steps that led to his porch and started to laugh when the parrot who came with the house started to squawk. At least he thought it had come with the house, but with his foggy memory, he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t remember if the bird was in residence when he had arrived or if it came later. He marveled at the bird’s vocabulary and couldn’t remember if he’d taught it to talk or if it had learned from somewhere else. He called it Bird and had no way of knowing if it was male or female. Bird ruffled his feathers, and said, “You’re late.”
“Am not.”
“Five o’clock.”
Tick looked down at his watch. It was four thirty. “It’s four thirty. Four thirty means I’m not late.” Bird rustled his feathers, then swooped down and perched on Tick’s shoulder.
“Five o’clock, time to eat. Five o’clock, time to eat!”
“No, Bird, it is not time to eat. We eat at six o’clock. I tell you that every day.”
“Bullshit!”
In spite of himself, Tick burst out laughing. He wondered then for the millionth time who the bird had once belonged to. Obviously someone with a salty tongue. “Go on, Bird, I’ll call you when it’s time to eat.” If anyone from his other life could see him dining with a parrot, they’d lock him up and throw away the key. He even set a place for Bird at the table.
Tick was sucking on a mango, the rich juice dribbling down his chin, when Bird’s head tilted to the side. His feathers rustled as he flew out of the mini kitchen straight for the front door. The hair on the back of Tick’s neck went straight up when the parrot screamed, “Intruder! Intruder!”
Tick slipped off his stool, his bare feet making no sound as he backed up to the small cabinet where he kept his gun. Because he was a cop, he kept the Glock locked and loaded. It felt comforting in his hand. He never got company. Never. If one of the Key residents came around, they always rang the bell out by the oversize palmetto.
Bird was literally bouncing off the walls as he circled the small living room, whose door opened onto the little front porch. “Hey, anyone home besides that crazy bird?”
Tick blinked. He’d know that voice anywhere. It belonged to his twin brother, Pete. He jammed the Glock into the back of his shorts. “Enough, Bird. It’s not an intruder!” The green bird squawked one more time as he settled himself on the back of Tick’s favorite chair. Bird’s eyes were bright as he watched his roommate walk over to the door.
They were the same height, the same muscular build, but there the resemblance ended. Tick was dark-haired, dark-eyed, thanks to his mother’s Italian heritage. Pete was a redhead with blue eyes, thanks to his father’s Irish heritage. “I was in the neighborhood,” Pete said quietly.
“Bullshit!” Bird squawked.
“That’s my line, Bird. C’mon in, Pete. How’d you find me?” They should be hugging each other, at the