Certainly for John, this seemed to have all the makings of a classic omen of some kind, though what type of omen exactly, or what it might be pointing to, he couldn’t even venture a guess. And yet, here he was in his best suit, at 7 a.m. on his second day in Coweta County, staring blankly at the bright blue and green bird squatting contentedly on the hood of the Studebaker he’d been lent by his estranged aunt so that he could investigate the murder of his uncle… Actually, if he decided to take a good hard look at his situation, it shouldn’t really seem that odd at all. Still, it caught John off-guard. It was only after a few moments that he broke out of his reverie long enough to wonder what people might think of this very odd scene, should anyone see him. But not quite soon enough… “I suppose they don’t have peacocks in New York?” John turned with a start. He hadn’t heard anyone coming up, and felt more than a little embarrassed. Normally he might have tried to mask it, but the bird had already unnerved him, and he was unable to do anything but point and look stupid.
