As they entered the parlor, Mac made a sweep of his surroundings. Madame Klavelle obviously went in for the whole stuffy, overdone Victorian look with the gingerbread trim, the red-flocked wallpaper, the heavy drapes and tassels, and all kinds of brick-a-brac. The rococo tables and the breakfronts, as well as the mantle of the marble fireplace, all held knickknacks of some sort.
A myna bird in a gilt cage eyed the newcomer warily and then squawked. "You're a dead man, you're a dead man."
"Quiet, Beelzebub!" Fabio warned with a sloe-eyed look. "Naughty, naughty! No crackers for bad boy."
The bird chirped and danced merrily on his perch, "Naughty boy, naughty boy!"
Disregarding Beelzebub, Fabio indicated an ornate chair with carved serpents on the wooden arms, the cushions upholst
