She squared her shoulders and stepped into the police station. Inside it was dim and depressing. The walls were gray and smudged with dirt, the tile beneath her heels discolored and cracked. A portly man with a florid complexion sat at the front desk. She inquired if she could see Dr. Maxwell. The man gave her a beady look and, in a jovial West Country accent, asked, “Are you family?”
“Er, yes,” she said, accepting the premise immediately. Maxwell certainly felt like family anyway. “I’m his niece. Could I please see him? You see, he has a rather weak heart, and I’m terribly concerned for him.” She didn’t have to try to look anxious.
He called to another sergeant, who led her through a set of doors and into a large room full of desks. The air was faintly musty and heavy, despite constant activity. Echoing voices, shouts, telephones ringing, and the sound of shuffling of papers thickened the atmosphere. Saffron followed the sergeant past the cluttered clusters of desks and down a short corridor. Everywhereshe looked was gray and crowded. The sergeant opened a door into a little room, and she blinked hard at the image of her mentor inside.
Dr. Maxwell sat at a small, scuffed table, his white hair less fluffy than usual. His face was grim and pale. He looked up as they entered and jumped to his feet as fast as his arthritis would allow.
“Uncle!” She stepped forward and gave him a wide-eyed look of warning.
“My dear,” he croaked, glancing worriedly between her and the sergeant. “Whatever are you doing here?”
“I had to see you! Mother has been so worried since you haven’t telephoned her.” She sat across from him as he sank back into his chair, wondering how she could possibly communicate all she needed to. “It seems your little … ah,bird, has been causing mischief.”
Maxwell blinked at her and tapped his ear as if worried he hadn’t heard her correctly. “My bird?”
“Er, yes,” Saffron said slowly, leaning over the table. “Your bird, you know, the one you brought back from Mexico. With such lovely brightyellowfeathers. He loves toclimbthings.”
“Y-yes,” Maxwell said with a furrowed brow. His eyes opened wide and he nodded quickly. “Yes, yes, of course! My bird!”
Relieved, Saffron nodded. “Your bird is being blamed for all kinds of trouble, unfortunately. But, you see, I can’t do anything about it because your research … ah, your ornithology reference books are gone.”
Maxwell held her gaze for a long moment as he thought. “Yes, you’re right,” he said slowly. “Someone did take my reference books, didn’t they?”
“I’m afraid your neighbor”—Saffron hesitated, looking to see how attentive the sergeant at the door was—“er, Mr. Green,has all the rest of your guidebooks. Clearly word has spread about what a unique bird he is.”
The sergeant sneezed and they jumped. Maxwell rubbed a hand over his brow and shook his head. “They say my bird is dangerous, Saffron, and there is no evidence to the contrary. I never saw the effects of the … bird firsthand. Even with my books and reports, there would be no way to prove my bird isn’t responsible.”
Saffron drew herself up slightly at the defeated tone in his voice. “I also came to tell you that although Mother doesn’t think she can cope with the bird if he returns, I said that I would try to track him down myself.” Saffron wasn’t sure that the professor would understand her bizarre stretch of the metaphor, but she gave him a determined smile that would let him know that she wasn’t convinced of his guilt and would work to free him.
The sergeant had wandered back into the hall a few steps, obviously very bored by their bird conversation. Saffron inched closer to Maxwell and whispered, “What on earth happened, Professor? Why are you here?”
Maxwell’s voice shook as he replied, “This arrest is all a misunderstanding.”
All the blood drained from Saffron’s head, making her woozy. “You’ve actually been arrested?” she choked out.
Maxwell gripped her hand. “It will all get cleared up soon. Just a misunderstanding between Dr. Henry and me. He must have taken my words to heart. Please, Saffron, you must stay out of this. For heaven’s sake”—his voice dropped even lower—“your father wouldn’t have wanted you in the middle of a police investigation.”
Trying to keep desperation out of her voice, she whispered quickly, “Professor, where are your notes from your paper on the xolotl vine? The police can’t have found all of them. If I could just look them over, I could prove—”
He cut her off at the sight of the sergeant walking back to them. “Please, please let it be. I will be all right—it’ll all get sorted. But please,” he spoke in a hoarse whisper as the sergeant wandered back into earshot, “leave that wretched bird alone!”
The university was bustling with students knocking off from classes by the time Saffron returned. She moved swiftly past the crowds, her fingers clutching the frayed notebook she’d retrieved from Dr. Maxwell’s house. Mrs. Maxwell had been equal parts relieved and distressed by her visit. Once Saffron explained what she needed, however, her distracted chattering gave way to determination. They scoured what was left on the endless dusty shelves of books, files, and notebooks of Dr. Maxwell’s cramped study. The police had already torn the place apart but hadn’t managed to find everything. If she knew anything about Maxwell, it was that he always had more papers squirreled away somewhere, and she’d been right. Within the hour, Saffron had emerged with exactly what she was hoping to find.
Instead of entering the North Wing, Saffron continued past it. Dr. Henry must have told the police that Maxwell was responsible and that in addition to the common knowledge that they had argued, as well as xolotl’s reputation, must have led to his arrest. The evidence against Maxwell was mounting higher and higher, and Saffron had to do something.
Saffron stole into the greenhouses and took a knife from the table. Gloves on, she carefully took a cutting and wrapped it in her handkerchief. She walked back out, casually waving at Mr. Winters as she passed him. She then headed to the staff room in the basement of the North Wing. A few minutes later, she walked cautiously into Maxwell’s office, carrying a glass of steaming water. She wrote a few words on a paper, then moved to prepare the infusion.
Though her hands shook as she placed the venomously yellow leaves into the water, Saffron was confident this would work. All she had to do was drink, then write down faithfully what happened. She already knew, sort of, what to expect. It would be a small inconvenience, she assured herself as she lifted the cup to her lips. Worth it when compared to the strong possibility of Dr. Maxwell being stuck in jail for years.
Saffron had just drained the glass of hot bitter water when a knock rapped on the frosted glass of the door. Alexander Ashton strode into the office a moment later with an armload of books.
Saffron had just a moment to wonder why he’d just barged into the office before his gaze swept over the supplies on the desk. His eyes widened as he took in the yellow leaves in the glass in her hand.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
But it was already done.
He took a step toward her. “Saffron—”
