A Birder's Guide to Murder Page 13

  “Hey, Porter!” Stalker yelled again as he tugged a second time.

  That was when I noticed there was one more bleeding wound on Peter Porter than there had been earlier. A slow drip was coming from the region of Porter’s left kidney.

  It looked fresh and it looked like real blood, not movie magic or catsup. That purple bruise on his jaw looked new too. I tapped Stalker on the shoulder. “I’m thinking maybe you should stop now, Stalker,” I suggested.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t think it’s going to do much good.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I think Peter Porter is dead.”

  Stalker promptly let go of Porter’s arm. It slapped sickeningly against the blacktop.

  I was feeling more than a little sick myself.

  15

  The police came and I was forced to tell my story. Detective Locke showed up nearly an hour later and I was forced to tell it again. One bit of news was that a camera was found in a dumpster near the body. The make and model matched that of JJ Fuller’s missing camera.

  Interesting.

  Nothing changed in the telling. Peter Porter was still very much dead. As I overheard one of the EMTs put it, “Mr. Porter has gone from undead to dead.” How the men had been able to joke about the situation was beyond me. Maybe you needed a morbid sense of humor in their line of work.

  Now I was telling my story to Derek.

  “Peter Porter lied about seeing Esther. He claimed somebody paid him.” We were in a local coffee shop.

  “Here. You’re shivering.” Derek wrapped my coat over my shoulders.

  “Thanks. But he wouldn’t tell me who. At least not then. Maybe he didn’t want to say who it was in front of the others. I don’t know.”

  “Ilsa Skoglund?”

  “Maybe. I was supposed to meet him after the runway show. He promised he would tell me who had paid him to lie.”

  “I’m surprised.”

  “Me, too. Although he warned me he’d deny it if I told anyone else.”

  “I wonder what game Mr. Porter was playing.” Derek handed me a cup of coffee. “Did he ask you for money in exchange for the information?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe he was planning to.”

  “You may be right.” If that had been his plan, it was a bad one. I didn’t have any money in my budget set aside for paying informants. I barely had funds for utilities, food and gas.

  “Whatever Porter was up to, it was a deadly game.”

  I agreed. “He was killed before we had a chance to talk. It must be connected to his murder somehow. Don’t you think it must be connected to his murder, Derek?”

  “I suppose so.” Derek was drinking lemon tea. “What do you know about this Peter Porter?”

  “Not a thing. I mean, only that he’s into cosplay.”

  “Cosplay?”

  “Costume play. There’s a whole world of people out there who like to get dressed up as their favorite superhero or some other fantasy character. Though, in Porter’s case, maybe it’s only a zombie that he likes to play at.”

  “I guess everybody needs a hobby.” Derek stirred a spoon around in his china cup. “I’ll stick to golf. What?”

  He’d caught me smirking. “I was just picturing you in dark tights like Batman.”

  “Please, if anything, I’d be Superman. At least that way I could fly like a bird.”

  “That I’d like to see.”

  “Getting back to Peter Porter.” Derek cleared his throat. I had a feeling he wasn’t as comfortable picturing himself in tights as I was. “You really have no idea who he was going to finger?”

  “Not a clue.” I broke off the corner of the peach scone we were sharing.

  “And then he is killed before he gets a chance to tell you who.”

  “Who would want JJ Fuller and Peter Porter dead?”

  Derek nodded. “You are forgetting one other thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why would someone want to bribe your zombie to say he saw Esther leaving the vicinity at the time of the murder?”

  “Good point.” I ripped off a hunk of scone and made it disappear.

  “You say Porter admitted he needed money. Who supplied it and why finger Esther?” Derek talked like a well-trained lawyer, which he was. “Mere chance? Because she happened to have been in the vicinity?”

  “You mean the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Somebody might have seen Esther and JJ Fuller arguing and decided she would make a good patsy.”

  Derek had a good theory. “They did argue on the middle of the Expo floor. There could have been a dozen witnesses to their little dust up.”

  “Meaning a dozen potential suspects,” I said with a troubled sigh.

  “And thank you.” I leaned over and kissed him hard and long.

  After catching his breath, Derek said, “What was that for?”

  “For not remarking how ghastly I look.” I was still made up like something from The Walking Dead. The lady working the counter had recoiled in horror when we’d entered the coffee shop. The poor woman probably thought the diner was under zombie attack.

  “I’ve never been kissed by a zombie before.” Derek smirked. “I’ve got to say. I kind of like it.”

  “I’ll bet you do.” I kissed him again.

  “How long do I have before I become one of you?”

  “I think the transformation has already begun,” I said slyly.

  A loud, shrill whistle cut through the air. It was Karl. “Boy, we could see you two necking like a couple of teenagers all the way out in the parking lot.”

  Karl looked amused. Floyd looked embarrassed.

  “Hello, Amy.” Floyd could barely make eye contact.

  “Looking good, Amy.” That was Karl. Nothing phased him.

  “Never better.” Derek patted my knee and I stuck my tongue out at him.

  Derek was unperturbed. “How did you find us?”

  “Were you following us?” I asked.

  “No,” explained Floyd. “We were following her. She was following you.”

  Derek looked out the window in the direction of Floyd’s gaze. Karl had tromped up to the counter and was ordering coffee and donuts. “Who is she?”

  “We’re not sure. Looks like a woman.”

  “She’s wearing a hat and a scarf,” added Floyd. “Must be a woman.”

  “Who would be following us?” I stood and peered outside. It was dark but I could make out a figure sitting alone in a car. Phoebe’s silver car had been towed. This was a dark coupe with a sloping roofline. Whose car was this?

  Karl tossed a bag of sugar donuts on the table between us. “Help yourselves.” He handed Floyd a coffee and dumped sugar and powdered cream in his own cup.

  “Phoebe and JJ Fuller were having an affair.”

  “Are you sure, Amy?” Floyd picked through the paper sack in search of the perfect donut.

  “They are all the same, you old coot.” Karl grabbed the bag, dropped one on Floyd’s napkin. He then reached into the bag and took the first one his fingers landed on. He stuffed it neatly in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “They all taste the same too.”

  Ignoring the shenanigans, I continued for Derek’s benefit. “Phoebe as much as admitted it. She left her husband. Then JJ dumped her.”

  Derek whistled. “There’s your motive.”

  The car’s headlights popped on.

  “She’s leaving.” I stuck out my hand. “Karl, give me your keys!”

  “What?” Karl fumbled in his pockets.

  “What are you up to?” Derek demanded.

  “I’m going to follow her. See where she goes. The van’s too noticeable.”
>
  “I’ll come with you.” Derek rose.

  “Okay. You two take the van and go back to the Eagle Inn and wait for us.”

  “But Amy, this could be dangerous.” Karl was itching to go.

  “We’ll be fine. I only want to get a close enough look to see who she is and where she goes.” I held out my hand. “The keys, Karl. Quickly.”

  Karl grumbled as he dropped the key to the rental in my open palm. “Careful with it. I didn’t pay for any extra insurance. I’m the only registered driver.”

  “I promise.”

  “What are we supposed to do?” complained Karl. He may have been retired but he still had a yearning for action. “Waiting in the hotel is boring.”

  “Maybe you could stake out the apartment again.”

  “What apartment?” Derek asked.

  “I’ll fill you in as we go.” I grabbed my purse.

  “Stake out the apartment. Yeah, good idea, Chief,” agreed Karl.

  “We can do that.” Floyd helped himself to a second donut. “One for the road.”

  “Fine. But stay out of trouble. Be discreet.” I pictured the woman next-door calling the police on them. Then I pictured them behind bars.

  “Don’t worry,” boasted Karl. “I am the master of the stakeout.”

  The brake lights blinked as the car turned onto the main street behind a delivery van.

  “We’d better run.” I pushed my arms into the sleeves of my jacket. Derek reluctantly followed.

  A light rain fell as we trailed the unknown driver at a distance. In the rain and in the dark, I was reasonably certain they wouldn’t know we were tailing them.

  “Did you get a good look at her yet?” I asked Derek as he peered through the window.

  “No, nothing identifiable. I think the guys are right about it being a woman though. You could pull upside them at the next light.”

  “Too chancy. They might spot us.”

  After nearly ten minutes of driving, the dark coupe pulled up outside a chain hotel with a No Vacancy sign. I got stuck behind a shuttle bus that slowly disgorged a group of travelers at the entrance. When we were finally able to move, there was no sign of the other vehicle. “Did you see which way they went?”

  “I think they went up there.” He pointed to a gated parking garage. “We need a keycard to get in.”

  “Rats.” I slid into a visitor parking space and cut the engine. “Let’s check inside the hotel.”

  “Okay.”

  There was a big sign inside the door stating the hotel was the official hotel of the American Birding Expo. I wiped my feet at the mat at the entrance then brushed the rain off my damp coat.

  “I don’t see anybody suspicious.” Derek peered through the window.

  “I’ll bet Phoebe is staying here. Ilsa Skoglund too. Let’s see if we can talk to one of them.”

  “You do that,” Derek suggested. “I’m going to walk up in the parking garage and see if I can spot that car.” He rubbed his hands together. “I would love to learn who is so interested in us.”

  “Good idea.”

  Derek slipped off. I approached the front desk with a smile on my face and asked for Phoebe and Ilsa’s room numbers.

  And was promptly rebuked.

  “We do not give out the room assignments of our guests,” the gold-jacketed man behind the check-in counter informed me. A woman in a crisp white shirt running some papers through a copy machine behind him nodded her agreement.

  It was two against one.

  “Ms. Gates and Ms. Skoglund are with the American Birding Expo. Me, too.” I fished around in my purse, yanked on my lanyard, releasing it from the twisted bowels of my handbag and displayed my nametag proudly on the counter. “I am supposed to be meeting them. They won’t be happy if I’m late.”

  His eyes fell to his computer screen and his fingers got busy. “Sorry.” He pushed the badge an inch in my direction with a shiny, manicured fingernail. “Both guests have requested that they not be disturbed.”

  “Fine. It will be on your head when they complain.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Will there be anything else?”

  My attempt at intimidation failed. I stuffed the badge back in my purse. “How about the bar? Am I allowed to have a drink in there? Or is it for guests only?”

  Without waiting for an answer, I proceeded to the dimly lit lounge to wait for Derek. I took a seat at the bar in the corner facing away from the annoying overhead television screens. My stool gave me a perfect shot of the lobby.

  Businessmen nursing drinks watched avidly as grown men in oversized shorts bounced a ball around and tried desperately to get it through each other’s hoop. I felt like I was jumping through hoops myself.

  The men smiled at me. I smiled back.

  A young couple at a nearby table was trying to contain their two cranky children, a boy and a girl, with generous baskets of French fries and large glasses of soda.

  The boy had his eyes fixed on me.

  “Don’t stare at the nice lady,” scolded the boy’s father.

  I wriggled my fingers and smiled to show I didn’t mind. Dad scooted the boy’s chair so he was facing the wall, not me.

  What was that all about?

  I ordered a glass of white wine from a bartender with a big smile on his face and nursed it while considering my options. I really needed to talk to Phoebe. She was my only lead.

  I pulled out my phone and called Derek. “Hi, Derek. Any luck?”

  “No. I’ve been up and down all four decks. Plenty of dark coupes but I couldn’t swear which one is the right one. And there’s an exit on the other side. The driver could be gone.”

  “Sounds like a dead end.”

  “I’m afraid so. But give me a few more minutes. Then I’ll meet you inside.”

  “I’ll be in the lounge.”

  “Great, order me a beer.”

  “I will. Be careful,” I urged.

  “Don’t worry. I have no desire or intention of putting myself in danger. I expect you to do the same.”

  “Count on it.”

  “Good. Listen, I’ve been thinking that we should find out more about Peter Porter.”

  “I agree. Maybe the police will be willing to share some info on him. We can put Karl on it. He’s chummy with them. I wonder if Porter was local.”

  “If he is, maybe we can talk to his family or friends, or…”

  “What?”

  “I just remembered. Suze.”

  “Who is Suze?”

  “His girlfriend, I think.”

  “Do you have a last name?”

  “No,” I admitted. “The police might have it on file. Although I didn’t see her around after the police showed up this afternoon.” I explained how I’d met her and how she had been a hostile presence at ZombieFest, at least when it came to my presence there.

  Had her hostility and subsequent disappearance after Peter Porter’s death been connected?

  “Hey, here comes a dark coupe. Gotta run.”

  “Derek?”

  I frowned at the phone. He’d hung up. I ordered Derek a local dark ale and a plate of sesame-glazed hot pretzel nibs.

  “Sure. Going to a party?” said the bartender.

  “What? No,” I replied.

  The bartender rang a brass bell beside the register. A young waitress in a tight-fitting black shirt and slacks approached him.

  “This is for 407, Gates.”

  “Sure.” She snapped a wad of gum as he handed across a tray on which sat a bottle of champagne on ice and two glasses.

  “It’s been charged to the room.”

  “Back in a jiff.”

  “See that you are,” replied the bartender who appeared several years her senior. He wore a black vest over a white shirt with black slac
ks. “And lose the gum.”

  She turned on her heel with a sexy strut that even the annoyed bartender couldn’t help admiring. Her reply to his last words was to shoot him the bird.

  The bartender chuckled good-naturedly. “She’s a piece of work.” He had aimed his words at me.

  “You’re very patient. If I were you, I’d—” Gates? I opened my purse and threw some money at him.

  “If you were me you’d what?”

  “Gotta run,” I said, stealing Derek’s line. I hurried to the elevator.

  The blond waitress grinned at me as I walked toward room 407. She was walking away from it. Her hands were free, having delivered the champagne, but her mouth was still full and she chewed gleefully. “Love your outfit.”

  “Thanks.” It was an automatic response. I wasn’t wearing anything special.

  “Have a nice evening,” she chirped.

  I wished her the same. Settling my purse strap over my shoulder, I knocked at 407.

  The door popped open. “Did you forget something?” Phoebe’s eyes narrowed then grew wide. “Amy, it’s you.”

  16

  Phoebe didn’t look too happy to see me. She wrung her hands.

  Since I had last seen her, she had switched to a thick white sweater and a slinky red skirt that fell to just below her knees. Her feet were bare.

  “Can I come in?” Okay, so I was breaking all the rules and probably my promise to Derek to stay out of harm’s way. I was asking to enter the room of a woman who very possibly could be responsible for the deaths of two men.

  Had she been following us? Had we been following her?

  “I suppose.” She cast a nervous look over her shoulder then stepped aside. “Come on in.”

  The room held a king-size bed, night table and leather chair along one wall. Across from the bed was a black desk. A TV sat on a dresser beside the desk. The striped curtains were closed.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Phoebe pulled open the door to the mini-fridge and poked her nose inside. “I’ve got orange juice, beer, wine and 7Up.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Have a seat.” Phoebe waved to a brown leather chair. She helped herself to a bottle of light beer then sat at the edge of the bed to face me. “What’s up? Are you staying here at the hotel?”