A Birder's Guide to Murder Page 23

  “So you can kill him?”

  “That’s the idea. He’s lived too long, too well. While my dad’s been stuck living the lousy life of a traveling salesman,” she said. “He’s lived. Why didn’t you bring him? Your friend told me I could count on you.”

  “Marty has disappeared.” I heard a slight movement and scanned the shadows. Was it chimney swifts or rats? Or was there somebody else here with us?

  “No. I am over here.” Marty’s voice called firmly from my far left.

  A gunshot rang out, followed by the sound of running feet.

  “Esther!” I shouted. “Are you all right?” Nothing. “Marty?”

  Nikki cursed. “Give yourself up, Marty. I’m counting to five and then Esther takes a bullet.”

  “Marty!” I hollered. My fingers danced over my phone, punching in 9-1-1. “Please, do as she says.” I didn’t want to see him hurt any more than I wanted to see Esther hurt. I hoped his acquiescence would buy us some time.

  “You win, Nikki,” Marty said calmly. “I’m old and I’m tired. You win.”

  A flashlight popped on coming from the direction of Nikki’s voice. “Come closer where I can see you.” The beam of light danced along the walls, finally alighting on the former spy as he moved sideways across the bowling lanes. But it wasn’t the Marty I was expecting to see. This Marty had long gray hair tied in a ponytail.

  This was the man I had seen in the company of Irv Shipman. Marty in disguise.

  “Marty?” I whispered. Bits of sunlight fell through the holes in the ceiling and squeezed through the smudged windows, like pieces of a shattered sun. The sky was clearing outside. Shapes were taking on definition and color.

  The voice on the other end of the phone kept repeating, “Hello? Hello? What is the nature of your emergency? Hello?”

  A shot rang out and Marty fell to the ground.

  “No!” another man’s voice rang out. “I insist you stop this now, Nikki!” the voice commanded.

  “Irv?” I said. “Irv Shipman, is that you?”

  “Daddy?” Nikki sobbed.

  Had Nikki just called Irv Shipman ‘Daddy’?

  “Put down the gun, Nikki.” Nikki aimed the beam of light at Irv Shipman and held it there. “Give the gun to me,” he urged softly.

  “No, Daddy. Don’t you see? We can end it all here.”

  “Give me the gun.” He was moving towards her slowly.

  A hunched-over shape lunged at Nikki, hitting her low.

  I didn’t have time to wonder who the new player might be.

  Nikki fired wildly a couple of times and ran, dragging Esther with her. I hurled the bowling pin I’d been strangling. It clunked against the side of the gutter and bounced harmlessly off the maple flooring.

  Shipman was shouting and giving chase.

  The bowling alley had become a carnival madhouse.

  “Esther!” I decided to give chase too.

  “Back off or she gets it!” snarled Nikki.

  “No you don’t!” A blurry figure slammed into Nikki from behind. She lost her grip on Esther’s arm and went down hands first.

  Esther dodged to the right and fell into Marty’s arms.

  Nikki scrambled to her feet and fired off another round.

  Her assailant opened fire. I heard five shots before he fell to the ground.

  Shipman threw himself on top of Nikki. “Stop this at once!” He lifted her up like a ragdoll and shook her.

  The gun in her hand bounced loose. I kicked it down the lane. It landed in the gutter and skidded to a stop.

  She screamed and fought against Irv Shipman to no avail. Marty and Esther scrambled to us. Marty yanked the tape from Esther’s mouth, leaving a deep red welt.

  I ran to the fallen man and gaped. “Floyd?”

  “Hi, Amy.” Floyd grimaced, clutching his right leg. “You won’t tell Karl I borrowed his gun, will you?”

  Somehow I thought that cat was already out of the bag.

  28

  “Are you crazy, Floyd?” Esther loomed over the fallen man.

  Marty held back.

  Irv Shipman had Nikki’s arms pinned behind her. She was steaming. It didn’t look like she’d be calming down anytime soon.

  I realized Esther was still yelling at Floyd. “You could have gotten hurt, you crazy old fool!”

  “Uh, Esther.” I tapped her on the shoulder and pointed. A line of blood showed along Floyd’s trouser leg.

  “Oh, Floyd!” Esther fell to her knees and began ministering to the wound.

  Marty and Irv conferred in hushed tones.

  I heard sirens and they were coming closer.

  “Thank goodness,” I said. “Marty, I think—”

  But there was no sign of him. Marty was gone.

  “What the devil…” I spun in a circle. “What happened to Marty?”

  “Let it go, Ms. Simms. Please.”

  “But Daddy!” shrieked Nikki.

  “Not another word from you, young lady.” Shipman released his grip on Nikki with some reluctance. “And you will say nothing about any of this.” He straightened his coat and adjusted his sleeves. “It is time I lived up to my past.”

  The police came in all armed and dangerous and not just a little wary and confused. They did their police thing, followed by the EMTs who did their emergency services thing. Most of which involved carting Floyd off to the hospital. Despite their protestations, Esther clung to him like a crusty old barnacle.

  * * * *

  Floyd was carried off with the keys to the rental car still in his trousers. I telephoned Derek to break the news and give him and Karl a lift to the hospital. The staff of Back To Nature Tours promised to keep an eye on our booth. Not that it mattered much, the Expo was all but over.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Karl kept repeating as we exited the minivan and hurried through the entrance doors of the hospital.

  I kept repeating that Floyd’s wound had appeared serious but not at all life-threatening.

  We were told at the desk that Floyd had been seen, treated and sent to a recovery room. Following the blue line on the floor, we found Floyd sitting up in bed. Esther sat in a chair at the bedside. She and Floyd were holding hands.

  “Floyd,” I cried. “Are you all right?”

  “You moron!” barked Karl, folding his hands under his armpits and blocking the doorway. “You might have gotten yourself killed.” His head shook violently side to side. “This is why civilians should never get involved in police investigations.”

  Floyd looked at him sheepishly. Esther looked like she was about to strangle the ex-chief of police. Floyd was restraining her.

  “Next time you decide to try to get yourself killed,” Karl said as he stomped to the foot of the bed, “call me. Maybe that will save your dumb ass from getting shot by a crazy woman.”

  “Karl,” said Derek. “Don’t you think you’re being a little rough on Floyd?”

  “Huh?” Karl looked abashed. “Oh, yeah.” He patted Floyd’s toes beneath the sheet. “Glad you’re okay, buddy.”

  “How are you feeling, Floyd?” I inquired.

  “Not so bad.”

  I grabbed the pitcher of water from the tableside and poured a glassful. It was a habit I’d picked up from my mother. A nice cool glass of water from the hand of a loved one is sometimes as good as any medicine.

  Floyd took the glass and drank then handed the glass to Esther who said, “Do you all mind taking your act someplace else? Floyd needs his rest.” She squeezed his hand. “Don’t you, dear?”

  Dear? I shot Derek a look and he smiled at me.

  “At least the police got the crazy woman that shot you.” Karl downed the remains of Floyd’s drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Women. They’re all crazy.”

  Es
ther snarled. She looked like she was about to bite Karl’s head off.

  “Actually,” Floyd said rather tentatively, “you might as well know…It’s going to come out sooner or later.”

  “Know what?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t Nikki Nilsson who shot me,” Floyd answered.

  “It wasn’t?” I replied. “Who then? Who shot you?” Had it been Irv Shipman? Marty? One of the chimney swifts?

  “You see, actually I sort of…well, I, that is—”

  “Tell us who shot you already, you old buzzard, before I shoot you myself,” threatened Karl.

  “Karl!” I said.

  “That’s okay, Amy. The truth is I sort of wounded myself.” He tucked his chin against his chest.

  Karl hooted. I sent him a dirty look special delivery. That didn’t stop him from speaking. “Wait. You shot your own self? With my gun?” He pressed his hand to his temple. “Oh, Lordy. There’s gonna be paperwork. Tons of paperwork.”

  Karl slumped into a chair near the window.

  Floyd looked humiliated. I planted a kiss on his forehead. “Come on,” I said to everyone. “Let’s let Floyd get some rest.” Before coming inside, the doctor treating him had said he could be released in the morning.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” Esther said to Floyd as she fluffed the pillow behind his shoulders. “Press that buzzer if you need anything.”

  Esther followed us out.

  We reconvened in the waiting room.

  “That Detective Locke came and went.” Esther took a seat in the chair beside me. “He said he’ll be back later today with more questions.”

  I lifted my legs and twisted sideways in my seat so I could rest my feet on Derek’s knees. “I have a question or two myself.”

  “Me, too,” Karl said. A passing nurse shook her finger at him as he stuck a damp cigar in his mouth. He cussed and dropped it into an empty paper coffee cup. Karl liked his cigars almost as much as he liked air. “Like how did that bullet hole get in your jacket, Chief?”

  “What?” I jumped up and examined my coat. “What the—” Brown brick showed through the hole. Only now there was a quarter-size chink in it.

  “My god, Amy. You’ve been shot.” Derek looked horror-stricken.

  I pulled the brick from my pocket. “If it hadn’t been for this…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish my sentence. That brick was going in a special place of honor in my apartment.

  “Didn’t you notice?” asked Karl.

  “Let’s change the subject,” I said quickly. I was never going to hear the end of this from Derek. “Tell us what happened, Esther.”

  “If you must know—”

  Derek raised his hand to cut her off. “Wait. As a lawyer, and possibly the attorney who is going to be forced to represent the lot of you—”

  “Pro bono?” I interrupted.

  “Pro bono,” Derek agreed with a small frown. “Then I should wait for you all outside. I’m not sure I want to be privy to anything that you have to say, Esther.”

  “That might not be a bad idea,” I said.

  “Suit yourself.” Esther shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “Nothing to hide?” My feet hit the floor as Derek stood. “All you’ve been doing is hiding things.”

  “Go easy on Esther, Chief,” Karl interjected. “She almost got killed herself.”

  “I suppose,” I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest after waving goodbye to Derek. “I’ll fill you in later,” I mouthed.

  I turned my gaze on Esther. “You were saying?”

  Esther pressed the creases out of her slacks with the palms of her hands.

  “When the SD card went missing, Nikki went into panic mode—”

  “Because Ilsa Skoglund stole it,” I interrupted.

  “Yes.” Esther gave me a dirty look of warning and I knew better than to interrupt again. “Nikki was certain that Ilsa Skoglund was somehow involved. Once Ilsa made her quote-unquote discovery, Nikki figured out that Ilsa had stolen the ivory-billed woodpecker photographs with the intent of claiming the discovery for herself.

  “She followed Skoglund and saw her take the disk from my purse. Nikki was furious that I had been released, frustrating her plans to expose the Osprey.”

  “Marty Ritter aka Klaus Bergdorf.” Karl plucked his soggy cigar from the coffee cup and stared at it unhappily.

  “Nikki was desperate to draw the Osprey out of hiding. She hated Marty and wanted him exposed or, better yet, dead in retaliation for what she felt he had done to her father.”

  “Irving Shipman,” I couldn’t help saying.

  “And her entire family. Her mother had committed suicide and she blamed her death on Marty, too.”

  Nikki Nilsson was devious and deadly. She had taken the name Nilsson and wormed her way into JJ Fuller’s life. Probably seduced him. As it turned out, she had also phoned the Hikers and Bikers Tours and, pretending to be Phoebe, cancelled their booth.

  According to Esther, she’d also enlisted him to work as a part-time freelance operative, taking photographs of people, places and things for murky customers whom Nikki had links to.

  Nikki had also wormed her way into Travis Stevens’s life. She had duped him into helping her. Esther had already explained how Nikki and Travis had gotten the drop on her and taken her away from the convention center at gunpoint.

  He was now being held in jail as Nikki’s accomplice.

  Her father, Irving Shipman, had hired her the best lawyers he could afford. I didn’t think that was going to be enough to save her. She had murdered two men in cold-blood. Even discounting the fact that one of those was already undead, didn’t make the deed any the less heinous.

  Irving Shipman, not his real name, had once been in the spy game, too. Irv and Marty had been nemeses. As Esther talked, I realized what a perfect cover being a birder or a birding optics salesperson was for a spy. Shipman circled the globe, moving from town to town, country to country, all under the guise of being nothing but an innocent bird lover.

  Esther had no answer to the question of what fate and the feds had in store for Irv. I couldn’t help wishing him well.

  Esther stood finally. “I’d better be getting back to Floyd.”

  “Wait.” I reached for her arm.

  “What now?”

  “What about Marty?”

  “Marty is gone. Forget about Marty.”

  “I’d be glad to but the police are looking for him.”

  She managed a smile. “They can look all they want. They aren’t going to find him.”

  “Is he up to more spy stuff?” Karl asked with a glimmer of jealousy.

  Esther rolled her eyes. “Marty is retired. All he wants to do is sit and watch the birds and flip through his stamp collection.”

  “Speaking of which, the police are bound to go to his apartment or, should I say, apartments?”

  “They already have. Both are about as empty as the space between your ears.” Esther pointed a finger at Karl.

  “Hey.” Karl straightened. “There’s no call for abuse.”

  “No?” Esther loomed over him. “It was your gun that Floyd shot himself with.”

  “I didn’t give it to him.” Karl cowered.

  “If we’re done here, Floyd needs me.”

  “Of course, there’s just one more thing,” I raised a single finger.

  “Yeah?” sighed Esther.

  “Are you, you know, I mean,” I twisted in my seat, “were you a spy? I asked through narrowed eyes.

  Esther stared at me for a moment that seemed to last an eternity. “Like they say, if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  Esther winked archly and turned on her orthopedic heels.

  I stared at the Pester’s retreating backside and kept my big mouth shut. Some th
ings were better off left unknown.

  About the Author

  In addition to writing the Bird Lover’s mystery series, J.R. Ripley is the critically acclaimed author of the Maggie Miller mysteries and the Kitty Karlyle mysteries (written as Marie Celine) among other works. J.R. is a member of the American Birding Association, the American Bird Conservancy, and is an Audubon Ambassador with the National Audubon Society. Before becoming a full-time author, J.R. worked at a multitude of jobs including: archaeologist, cook, factory worker, copywriter, technical writer, editor, musician, entrepreneur and window washer. You may visit jrripley.net. for more information or visit J.R. on Facebook at facebook.com/jrripley.