“How long were they down there?”

“I don’t know.”

Rachel carried the feather to a work counter, pul ed two strands from it, placed them on a glass slide, dropped liquid onto them, poked and repositioned them with the tip of a needle, blotted, and added a cover slip. Then she settled her ample buttocks on a round, backless stool, fiddled and adjusted, and peered through a microscope.

Seconds passed. A minute. Two.

“Oh, my.”

Rachel rose, waddled to a bank of long, wooden drawers, and withdrew a flat, rectangular box. Returning to the scope she removed the slide she had just prepared, selected one from the box, and viewed the latter.

Puzzled, Ryan and I exchanged glances.

Rachel fol owed the first reference slide with another from the box, then went back to the slide made from Rinaldi’s feather.

“I wish I had a comparison scope,” she said, exchanging Rinaldi’s feather for a third reference slide. “But I don’t.” When Rachel final y looked up her face was flushed and her eyes were wide with excitement.

18

“CYANOPSITTA SPIXI .” HUSHED,LIKE A ZEALOT SPEAKING THEname of her god.

“That’s some kind of parrot?” Ryan asked.

“Not just any parrot.” Rachel pressed both palms to her chest. “The world’s rarest parrot. Probably the world’s rarest bird.” The crossed hands rose and fel with the lime-turquoise bosom.

“Oh, my.”

“Would you like water?” I asked.

Rachel fluttered agitated fingers.

“It’s a macaw, actual y.” Slipping off her half-moons, she let them drop to the end of their chain.

“A macaw is a type of parrot?”

“Yes.” She lifted the feather from beside the scope and stroked it lovingly. “This is from the tail of a Spix’s macaw.”

“Do you have a stuffed specimen?” Ryan asked.

“Certainly not.” She slid from her stool. “Thanks to habitat destruction and the cage-bird trade, there aren’t any more. I’m lucky to have the reference slides for the feathers.”

“What is it you look at?” I asked.

“Oh, my. Wel , let me see.” She thought a moment, going through her own KISS abridgment. “Feathers have shafts out of which grow barbs. The barbs have mini-barbs, cal ed barbules, connected by structures cal ed nodes. In addition to the overal morphology and color of the feather, I look at the shape, size, pigmentation, density, and distribution of those nodes.”

Rachel went to one of the shelves above the drawers and returned with a large brown volume. After checking the index, she opened and laid the book flat.

“That”—she tapped a photo with a pudgy finger—“is a Spix’s.”

The bird had a cobalt blue body and pale head. The legs were dark, the eye gray, the beak black and less hooked than I’d expected.

“How big were they?”

“Fifty-five, sixty centimeters. Not the largest, not the smal est of the macaws.”

“Where did they hang out?” Ryan.