But try as she might, nothing lasted. By some bizarre chromosomal trick, Rachel’s set point seemed stuck at 227.

As though to compensate, her double helices granted Rachel thick, auburn hair, and the most beautiful skin I have ever seen.

And a heart big enough to accommodate a Radio City Music Hal Rockettes finale.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Ryan.”Rachel extended a chubby hand.

Ryan kissed the back of her fingers.

“Bonjour, madame. Parlez-vous français?”

“Un petit peu.My grandparents werequébecois.”

“Excel ent.”

Rachel’s eyes swung to me. Her brows rose and her lips rounded into a tiny O.

“Just say ‘down, boy,’ ” I said.

Ryan released her hand.

“Down, boy.” Rachel made a palms-down movement with both hands. “And girl.”

“Down, boy.” Rachel made a palms-down movement with both hands. “And girl.”

We al sat.

Ryan pointed to a metal sculpture atop a pile of exam books.

“Nice duck.”

“It’s a grebe,” Rachel corrected.

“You can put this visit on his bil .” Ryan.

“You know, I’ve never heard that one before.” Rachel could be as deadpan as Ryan. “Now. What’s this about a dead bird?” Keeping details to a minimum, I explained the situation.

“I’m not top-drawer with bones, but I’m crackerjack with feathers. Let’s go into my lab.” If Rachel’s office held a few dozen genera of birds, her lab was home to the entire Linnaean lineup. Kestrels. Shrikes. Moorhens. Condors.

Hummingbirds. Penguins. There was even a stuffed kiwi in a glass-fronted cabinet at the far end.

Rachel led us to a black-topped worktable and I spread the bones on it. Raising half-moon glasses from her bosom to her nose, she poked through the assemblage.

“Looks like Psittacidae.”

“I thought so, too,” said Ryan.

Rachel did not look up.

“Parrot family. Cockatoos, macaws, loris, lovebirds, parakeets.”

“I had a pip of a parakeet when I was a kid,” said Ryan.

“Did you?” said Rachel.

“Named him Pip.”

Rachel glanced at me, and the chains on her half-moons swung in unison.

I pointed to my temple and shook my head.

Returning her attention to the table, Rachel selected the breastbone and gave it an appraising look.

“Probably a macaw of some sort. Too bad we don’t have the skul .”

A flashback. Larabee speaking of the headless passenger.

“Too smal for a hyacinth’s. Too big for a red-shouldered.”

Rachel turned the sternum over and over in her hands, than laid it on the table.

“Let’s see the feathers.”

I unzipped the baggie and shook out the contents. Rachel’s eyes dropped back to the table.

If a woman can lock up, Rachel did it. For several seconds not a molecule of her being moved. Then, reverently, she reached out and picked up one feather.

“Oh, my.”

“What?”

Rachel gaped at me like I’d just pul ed a nickel from her ear.

“Where did you get these?”

I repeated my explanation about the farmhouse basement.