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"So Melissa was obsessed with Chet," Morgan noted, "not the other way around."
"Kind of looks that way," Tessa agreed.
"What about this bird?" Morgan asked, tapping the photo.
"That's Chet's talking parrot," Tessa said. "It's totally weird, but sometimes he has the thing in the bar, imitating words customers say. He's kind of a weirdo, but then again, so was Melissa. I love her for it, but..."
Morgan nodded, noting down the name Chet and the talking parrot in her notebook. It was a strange lead, but one she couldn't ignore.
"Thank you for your help, Tessa," Morgan said. "If it's all right, I'd like to take this notebook with me. Can you tell me the name of the bar where Chet works?"
"Sure, it's called The Thirsty Parrot. And yeah, take the notebook," Tessa said. "Maybe it'll help you find out who did this to Mel. I just want her to have justice."
Morgan nodded, tucking the sketchbook under her arm. "I'll do everything I can," she promised. "Thank you again for your cooperation. If you think of anything else or need to get in touch with me, here's my number." Morgan held out a card with her details on it.
"Of course," Tessa replied, taking the card with a shaky hand. "I'll call if I remember anything. I just... I hope you find out who did this."
Morgan nodded. "We will."
That much, she could promise.
With that, Morgan left the townhouse and stepped onto the busy street. The afternoon sun reflected off car windows, and people bustled by, walking their dogs or rushing to work. The normalcy of the scene contrasted sharply with the darkness hanging over Melissa's murder, making Morgan feel even more determined to solve the case. One thing was certain: she needed to meet this Chet guy at the Thirsty Parrot.
As she walked towards her parked car, Morgan couldn't help but let her mind wander back to the room she had just left – the world that Melissa had created for herself. She could feel the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on her, but she knew she had to stay focused and find the truth hidden in the shadows.
Morgan's hand clenched the car door handle as she glanced around the busy street. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a man taking a photo, just like at the crime scene earlier. Her heart raced, but when she turned her head to get a better look, it was just a crowd of people going about their day.
Get a grip, Morgan, she chastised herself, trying to shake off the feeling that someone was following her. Maybe it was Melissa's killer, or maybe it was just Thomas messing with her.
Then again, it could also just be her broken mind, imagining things.
Taking a deep breath, she started the engine and drove toward the Thirsty Parrot, her eyes scanning the rearview mirror for any sign of danger.
CHAPTER FIVE
The afternoon sun was bright as Morgan parked her car outside the Thirsty Parrot. She stepped out and took a deep breath, feeling the weight of Melissa Grayson's death heavy on her shoulders. A young woman, left dead with a red bird feather tangled in her hair. And now, here Morgan was, about to confront the man who might be responsible.
Morgan's dark eyes scanned the bar's exterior, noting the neon sign flickering above the door. The irony of a parrot-themed bar wasn't lost on her, given that its owner, Chet, had been doodled extensively in Melissa's sketchbook. It seemed too much of a coincidence that he happened to own a parrot with feathers similar to the one found at the crime scene.
"Alright," she muttered to herself, shaking off any lingering doubts and pushing open the door to the Thirsty Parrot.
As expected, the bar was nearly deserted at this hour. A few patrons lingered at the back, absorbed in a game of darts. Morgan's footsteps echoed slightly as she made her way to the counter, the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke hanging in the air. The squawk of a bird caught her attention, and she glanced up to see the infamous parrot perched behind the bar.
"Hello, pretty bird," she murmured, her gaze shifting to the man next to it. With chiseled features and tousled hair, he was unmistakably Chet - the very same man sketched lovingly in Melissa's drawings.
"Can I get you something?" Chet asked, running a rag over a glass with practiced ease.
"Actually, I'm not here for a drink," Morgan replied, her voice steady. She couldn't help but study him, searching for any telltale signs of guilt or unease.
"Then what can I do for you?" Chet inquired, his eyes flicking to the parrot briefly before returning to Morgan's face.
With a deep breath, Morgan pulled out her badge and held it up. "Morgan Cross, FBI," she announced, her voice clear and commanding.
"Mor-gan Cross, FBI!" the parrot squawked immediately, mimicking her tone almost perfectly. The few customers in the bar looked up from their game of darts, curiosity piqued by the sudden disturbance.
Chet's eyes widened slightly at the sight of her badge, and he introduced himself nervously. "Chet James."
"I know who you are," Morgan replied, her gaze unwavering.
