A Birder's Guide to Murder Page 20

  “Thank you. Speaking of packing, where are you off to next?”

  “I’ve got a show up in Boston.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad. You won’t have far to travel.”

  “No.” He looked a bit overwhelmed. “It will be my first solo show though.”

  “That’s right, Irv is retiring.”

  “Yep.” He dug his hands into his pant pockets. “Speaking of retiring, I heard the police arrested that stamp collector guy for killing JJ Fuller and the zombie.”

  I wasn’t sure how Peter Porter’s family, assuming he had one, would feel about him being memorialized as a zombie rather than a human being but there was no point giving Travis a hard time about it. He seemed like a nice enough young man.

  “So you heard.”

  “Everybody’s heard. It was on the news. Everyone is talking about it.” Travis shrugged. “That and Ilsa Skoglund backpedaling.”

  “Backpedaling?”

  Travis grinned. “Yeah. Apparently, she’s now saying that it might not have been that ivory-footed—”

  “Ivory-billed,” I corrected.

  “Right. Ivory-billed woodpecker that she’d seen at all.”

  “Wow. That I had not heard.”

  “Well, then you heard it here first.”

  “Heard what?” a woman inquired.

  I turned around as Nikki Nilsson passed me and planted a kiss on Travis’s cheek.

  “Hey, Nikki, babe. Check it out. Amy gotten bitten on the nose by an osprey.”

  Nikki’s face went blank.

  “It’s a joke.” I covered my nose with my hand.

  “Heard what?” Nikki asked again, her hand rubbing Travis’s neck as if to coax out the answer.

  Travis grabbed her hand. “About that guy getting arrested for killing your boss.”

  Nikki settled her purse on her shoulder. It was a nice brown leather bag that went well with her cashmere sweater and jeans. She’d added a black streak to her blond tresses. A nod to the death of her former boss, JJ Fuller? “Yes, thank goodness,” she exclaimed.

  “You must be relieved, Nikki.”

  “Relieved? Relieved doesn’t begin to describe it,” the young woman said. “I’ll bet he’s some crazy bird fanatic who tried to rob JJ and ended up murdering him instead. Say,” Nikki said out of the blue, “where’s Esther? Don’t tell me the police are still holding her?”

  “No. She’s in the clear. What do you think Marty Ritter tried to rob JJ of?”

  “The pictures on his camera, of course. What else could it be?”

  I didn’t have a clue and said so.

  “It had to be the pictures.”

  “The ones of the ivory-billed woodpecker?”

  “Yep.”

  “You saw the bird too? It really was the ivory-billed woodpecker? Because it seems Ilsa’s now suggesting it may not have been.”

  “Beats me.” Nikki shrugged.

  “Were you with JJ when he took the photos?”

  “No. He liked to go birding alone.”

  “But you saw the pictures before the Expo? You knew that your boss had found the woodpecker, not Ilsa Skoglund?”

  “Of course.” Nikki frowned. “That woman has a nasty habit of interfering where she ought not. When I confronted her, she said she’d erased everything on JJ’s SD card except for the shots of that bird.” Her hands curled into fists.

  “At least the truth will come out now,” I offered.

  “Yeah, there is that.”

  “And the man who has admitted to killing JJ is safely behind bars.”

  “I only hope he stays behind bars,” Travis said. “That guy gives me the creeps.”

  “You never even met the man, dear,” Nikki said.

  “Huh? Right, but I saw his face. Definitely the killer type.” Travis drank from an open can of cola. “I bet he gets life.”

  Travis busily dug under his fingernails with a bent paperclip. “It’s kinda funny when you think about it. The police nab him outside a penitentiary and now the old bird will probably spend the rest of his life in one. Like a bird in a cage,” he added with a big grin.

  “I hope he burns in hell.” Nikki slapped Travis’s hands and he stopped picking under his nails. “Where’s Irv?”

  “Hanging out with one of his buddies,” explained Travis.

  Nikki frowned and looked at the slender platinum watch on her wrist. “Tell him I need to see him.”

  “Sure, babe.” The two locked lips. I now recognized her voice as belonging to the woman Travis had been entertaining in his apartment.

  Travis moved away and mingled with the browsers wandering the Ornitho Optics booth.

  “Are you buying some equipment from Travis?” Nikki asked.

  “Actually, Amy is returning some gear she borrowed.”

  “Borrowed?” Nikki didn’t look pleased.

  “She borrowed some stuff from Irv.” Travis moved back in, apparently unable to long resist the pull of the beautiful young woman.

  Nikki rolled her eyes. “There’s no money in loans.” Suddenly she grinned. “Unless you charge interest.”

  Embarrassed, I pulled out my wallet. “I could pay you something—”

  Travis held up his hand. “Nah. Forget about it. Demoing the products is why we’re here.” He turned to Nikki. “Right, babe?”

  “Nice seeing you again, Ms. Simms.” Nikki’s lips were swollen and tinged with a violet lip gloss. “Will you and your employees be leaving for home today? Where was that exactly? North Carolina?”

  “That’s right, Ruby Lake, to be precise. Yes, we’ll be up and out. I’m looking forward to being home.”

  “I’m sure you are.” Nikki batted her eyes at me. “Maybe I’ll see you at another event?”

  “Possibly. After I’ve recovered from this one.”

  “Don’t let the mayhem get to you,” Nikki said. “Usually these things are nothing but fun.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “Now that JJ is gone, what will you do?”

  Nikki shrugged as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m not sure.”

  “No doubt something will turn up,” I said by way of encouragement. Maybe Skoggie was looking for a new assistant. Or a publicist to repair her tarnished image.

  “It might be time for a career change. Maybe I’ll try something different.” Nikki appeared to give this some thought. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Nikki helped herself to a handful of butterscotch candies in a small glass dish that she deposited in her purse, saving up for a rainy or sugarless day, sort of like a poor imitation of a western scrub jay, a bird known to cache several thousands of pine seeds and acorns in a single season and then retrieve them during the bleak winter months. “I’m happy as a lark and free as a bird. Speaking of birds, there is a raptor show today. You might want to be careful you do not get bitten again.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your nose?” She put a finger to her own nose.

  “Oh, right.” I grinned.

  Nikki went one way and I went the other.

  Free of guilt now that I had returned Ornitho Optics birding equipment to them, I had every intention of operating the Birds & Bees booth for the remainder of the Expo. Maybe I could even find a nearby driving range where Derek could go whack a bucket of balls for an hour or two that afternoon. Although why anybody would want to do that for fun was beyond me.

  My intentions, good as they were, would have to wait until I had checked off the rest of the items on my laundry list though.

  I found Phoebe Gates hovering over the shoulder of a weary young lady at the registration table near the entrance. I waved to get her attention. “Have a minute, Phoebe?”

  Phoebe said something I couldn’t catch to the young woman. The woman nodded briskly a
s she clutched a sheaf of registration papers in one hand and fiddled with the keyboard of a small tablet with the other.

  “Hi, Amy. What’s up?”

  “You seem quite chipper this morning, Phoebe.”

  “I am. It’s the last day of the Expo. And with JJ’s killer behind bars, I expect nothing but a family-friendly grand finale with the birds of prey show and some laughs from Donnie Warbler.”

  Donnie Warbler was really Donnie Weaver. He was known on the birding circuit for his comical imitations of our feathered friends.

  Phoebe sipped from a plastic water bottle. “And no dead bodies.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  “Here you go.” She thrust the bottle at me. It might have looked like water but it smelled of vodka.

  “I was speaking metaphorically.”

  Phoebe dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her thumb. “Was there something special you need?” Before I could answer, she continued. “I hope you won’t let our little distractions deter you from returning next year.”

  Is that what Phoebe considered two murders? Little distractions?

  Phoebe was still talking. “The American Birding Expo gets bigger each year. I’ve already got a flock of exhibitors signing up to come back.” She latched her fingers around my wrist. “You might want to think about reserving a booth early.”

  “Well…”

  “I’ll give you a good rate. See me before you leave. We’ll see if we can’t work something out.”

  “Sure. I’ll do that. On the subject of the Expo—” Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a vaguely familiar looking, white-haired older man with a ponytail and beard. He was walking with Irv Shipman.

  “Yes?”

  “I wanted to thank you again for inviting Birds and Bees to fill the empty booth. You must have had dozens of others who would have jumped at the opportunity.”

  Phoebe lifted the American Birding Expo ball cap from her head. She pushed a hand through her hair before replacing it. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you came.”

  I wasn’t sure if I was so glad but it would have been rude to say so. “I still can’t imagine why JJ suggested Birds and Bees for the Expo.”

  “I guess that’s one more secret JJ has taken to his grave.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Phoebe shook her head. “It’s not polite to speak ill of the dead and rumors are just that.” She looked over her shoulder. “Gotta go. If you really want to know why JJ suggested inviting you, ask his assistant, Nikki. She may know something.”

  “Thanks. I might do that.” I had a feeling Nikki was useless. Lorna might know why JJ had recommended me to Phoebe.

  “Right.” Phoebe took two steps then turned back. “Don’t forget. Come find me before you leave and we’ll see if we can’t get you signed up for a booth for next year.”

  I nodded in a vague and noncontractual manner. I intended to see that I and my crew got out of this Expo alive and back home safely before scheduling a return engagement.

  Worry about Esther crept up in my thoughts. How was she taking Marty’s arrest and incarceration?

  Behind the cranky, stoic exterior lurked a woman of depth and mystery.

  And dare I say it?

  Heart.

  I still couldn’t be sure that Marty was not guilty of murdering JJ Fuller and Peter Porter. If he killed JJ, why? Porter’s death seemed more clear. He had likely been murdered because he knew too much, probably something about the first murder. So the killer decided he had to go too.

  Unless JJ and Peter were involved in something nefarious together. But that seemed improbable.

  What had JJ Fuller known or done that had led someone, possibly Marty, to put him permanently out of commission?

  That question led me in a circle back to Phoebe Gates. She was more relaxed, carefree today. Was that because Marty was the real killer and he was in custody?

  Or, was it because the police had the wrong suspect and the real culprit was looking like they might go free, leaving Marty Ritter aka Klaus Bergdorf—aka whoever—to take the blame? And was that culprit Phoebe and/or her new gal pal, Lorna?

  What secrets, if any, had Phoebe been alluding to that JJ Fuller had taken to his early grave?

  Which brought me back to why murder JJ?

  If Ilsa was not lying about what she’d seen, heard and done, and the others were not lying, then why was JJ killed?

  I remembered something Derek had told me once: Find the why and find the who.

  I wanted another word with Skoggie.

  Unfortunately, Detective Locke wanted another word with me first.

  25

  Detective Locke saw me at the same time I saw him. He stood a couple of booths down from the Birds & Bees booth feigning interest in a Costa Rican birding expedition.

  The detective dropped the brochure he was holding. He nodded to the two men at the booth then began moving in my direction.

  I sidled over to the Audubon Center booth and started riffling through the sale items. I wanted the detective as far away as possible from our booth in case Esther showed up. Plus, I thought I might pick up a couple of souvenir sweatshirts for Mom and Kim to thank them for managing Birds & Bees while we were gone.

  Detective Locke planted himself in front of me. He wore rumpled blue trousers, a white shirt with narrow blue stripes and a blue sport coat. He didn’t look happy. His puffy eyes complemented his sagging jowls.

  “A word, Ms. Simms.” The detective thrust his hands in the pockets of his sport coat, stretching the material to its breaking point.

  “Of course. Good morning, detective, or, should I say, afternoon. You look like you’ve had a long night.” The sweatshirts were nice. But it was the cabana shirts that caught my eye. I held up a blue top for a closer look.

  “You might say that.”

  I almost quipped that I just had but he seemed too tired to be receptive to jokes. “I’m surprised to see you here at the Expo. Tying up some loose ends?” I set it aside. There was a pretty yellow one in Kim’s size but I thought she might prefer the sage.

  “Where’s Ms. Pilaster?” Detective Locke cast his eyes on every passing person as if he knew they were each guilty of something and all he had to do was figure out what. Then he would slap the cuffs on them with the alacrity of a sparrow hawk or, dare I say, osprey, seizing its prey.

  “Esther?” I looked around as if she might be in the expo hall, which I knew she was not. “She’s down at the police station visiting Marty.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Why, detective? Don’t tell me you have more questions for her.” I held the yellow and sage cabana shirts one by one against my chest. “Esther is a dear, sweet woman,” I heard myself saying, “I can tell you that she would never be a party to a crime.”

  Nor would she rat out her old friend, of that I was certain.

  “The Expo ends today. And we are all going home.” I started to move past him. “I’m sure any questions you have for Esther, she will be happy to answer by telephone long distance. What do you think? Yellow or sage?” I stuck the shirts under his nose.

  “Green.”

  “Thanks.” I handed my credit card over to the clerk and she bagged the gifts for me. I thanked her and started to go.

  Detective Locke pressed his palm against my shoulder blade. “Not so fast.”

  I glared at his hand, saying nothing.

  The detective removed his hand. “Marty Ritter is missing,” he finally said and I had a feeling the words had not come easy.

  “You mean escaped?” My mouth went dry.

  “Yes. Let’s keep that between us, shall we?”

  “Don’t tell me Esther—”

  I clamped my lips together.

  “Don’t tell me Esther what?” The detective ti
lted his head at me in question.

  I was going to say something stupid, like did she break him out but had caught myself in time. The absurd image of Esther baking a cake with a file in it and delivering it to little old Marty in jail so he could saw his way free sprang into my brain.

  Absurd because I didn’t know if Esther could bake.

  “Don’t tell me Esther went down to the station for nothing?” I swallowed. Hard. And hoped he bought it.

  “Where is she, Ms. Simms?” He turned a yawn into a frown. “I went by your booth. Mr. Harlan tells me she hasn’t been in.”

  “Where did I put that receipt?” I dug around in the bag holding my new shirts, buying time.

  “It’s in your other hand.”

  “Oh, right.” I tossed the balled-up receipt in the plastic bag. “I haven’t seen Esther since we left the inn. If she’s not here and she’s not at the station, then I honestly don’t know where she might be. She said she was going to the police station.”

  The bandage on my nose was slipping. I shoved it back in place. Who knew noses could sweat so much?

  “Come to think of it, she must have meant the police station in Philadelphia.” It was the Philadelphia police who had made the arrest. “Maybe you should check with them there.”

  “Maybe.” Though he said it, he clearly didn’t believe it. “What happened to your nose?”

  “Some jerk tossed a brick out of their car and it nicked me.” I pinched my nose just enough to see that it still hurt. A lot. “That’s all.”

  “Are you sure that’s all it was?” The detective seemed almost happy with the news. “Maybe it’s someone’s way of telling you that they don’t like you sticking your nose into something that does not concern you.”

  He had a point. A scary one. Another six inches and I might be dead.

  My brain was working furiously. Where, oh where, was Esther? What trouble had she gotten herself into now? Was she harboring a fugitive? Was she a fugitive herself?

  “Something about those two doesn’t add up.”

  “You mean Esther and Marty?”

  “You know two other senior citizens up to their eyeballs in a double homicide?”

  I wasn’t sure that two killings on separate days qualified as a double homicide but, again, I thought better of pointing this out to the harried detective.