A Birder's Guide to Murder Page 8

  “That’s right,” Esther said.

  “In the—” I blubbered.

  I stuck out my hand and introduced myself. I’d never shaken hands with a dead man before but there was a first for everything. “Hello, Mr. Ritter.”

  The merest of smiles welcomed me. “Please, call me Marty,” Martin Ritter insisted in a booming basso voice. “It is my dear pleasure to meet you.”

  “Your friend?” Floyd looked the fellow up and down.

  I couldn’t blame Floyd. How did Esther have a friend in Philadelphia? She’d never mentioned one.

  She didn’t do Philadelphia.

  Derek introduced himself. “Thanks for bringing Esther to us. We’ve been very concerned about her.”

  “I’m sorry. I can assure you”—he patted Esther’s hand—“she is well taken care of.”

  “Who is this guy, Esther?” Floyd snapped uncharacteristically. He puffed out his chest like a gray catbird.

  “Calm down, buddy.” Karl dragged Floyd to the rear of the booth and plopped him into a chair.

  Marty plucked a worn brown fedora from his head. His face was long. His chiseled features had begun to erode, a patch of black hair had begun to recede but his hazel eyes seemed as sharp as any hawk’s. A small, jagged white scar ran along the right side of his nose.

  All in all, he looked pretty good for a dead guy.

  “Esther has told me so much about you. She tells me you work for her in her store.”

  “She did, did she?”

  Funny, she’d told me nothing about him except for the fact that he was living six feet underground at the Laurel Hill Cemetery.

  “Yes, it sounds quite charming.”

  I forced my lips to turn up when they most definitely wanted to turn down. “Charming doesn’t begin to describe it, Marty.”

  Floyd and Karl were whispering loudly in the far corner of the booth. Though Karl tried to hold him back, Floyd surged forward once more. “Esther.” She stiffened as he wrapped his arms around her in an awkward embrace. “We were very worried about you, Esther.”

  “Whatever for?” Esther pulled free and tugged at a string of big pearls around her neck. She had eschewed her usual ponytail and her gray hair hung loose.

  “You were out all night.” Floyd looked up at Marty who stood an inch or two taller.

  “I’m afraid I am to blame.” Marty held a pair of black leather gloves in his left hand. He wore a nice but ancient black wool coat and dark trousers. Beneath the coat, bits of a rumpled gray cable-knit sweater were visible.

  I detected a slight accent in his speech but couldn’t place it.

  Plastering a big phony smile on my face, I turned to Esther and said, “Esther, dear. Can I speak with you for a minute? Alone, please?”

  “What for?” Esther tugged to free herself from the grip I had placed on her left hand.

  “Thanks. Would you all excuse us, please?”

  “Hey—” Esther swore up a storm as I dragged her to the food court for some relative privacy. We passed Mr. Shipman manning his booth with a young assistant in a matching purple polo shirt. He waved hello.

  I propelled Esther into the nearest empty plastic chair at the farthest empty table. “Let’s start with the obvious. Wait. Is that makeup you’re wearing, Esther?” The Pester wasn’t big on what she called face paint.

  Esther’s fingers went to her cheek. “What of it?”

  “Nothing.” I shook myself, trying to jumpstart my brain, get my thoughts back on track. “What about the knife?”

  “What knife?”

  “The knife that was used to slit JJ Fuller’s throat,” I whispered. Esther could be exasperating at the best of times.

  “It was in the toilet bowl, remember?”

  “That won’t have stopped the police from fishing it out.” Though it might have stopped me. “It is the knife you were using in the booth yesterday. It’s only a matter of time until they find your fingerprints on it.”

  “It was in the bowl butt down.”

  I ignored the poorly timed pun. “That doesn’t mean the police won’t find any fingerprints.” I had watched enough TV to know that.

  “Even if they do, so what? I used the knife to slice bird bars, not JJ Fuller’s throat. Are we about done here? I could use a bagel.”

  I placed my hands flat on the small round table. Were we moving? Why did it feel like we were in a dinghy in rough swells? I don’t do well on boats.

  I was wishing that I didn’t do Philadelphia.

  I was feeling seasick. I clasped her hands. “Listen to me, Esther. We’re going with the insanity defense. I’ll have to ask Derek what the laws are in Pennsylvania. He might know.”

  I could hear myself rambling. “They don’t execute crazy little old ladies here, do they?” I shook my head. “No, no. They wouldn’t do that. Too cruel.”

  “You’re babbling, Amy.” Esther lashed out across the table and slapped me across the cheek.

  “Ouch!”

  “Feel better now?”

  I massaged my jaw. “Hardly.”

  “Listen,” Esther planted her elbows on the table. I kept my eyes on her hands. If she went to hit me again, I’d be prepared. “I did not murder JJ Fuller. And I don’t know who did. What I do know is that whoever is responsible is trying to make it look like the work of the Osprey.”

  I sighed. Esther hadn’t only lost her marbles, she’d lost the bag they had come in. “The osprey?”

  “That’s right.” Esther nodded firmly.

  As much as I knew I was leaving myself vulnerable, I took my eyes off her slap-happy hands to look in her eyes. They didn’t look any crazier than usual. “So this osprey got in the Expo center and murdered the guest of honor in the bathroom of his dressing room? With a knife? Shouldn’t it have used its talons at least?”

  “You aren’t listening,” Esther said with exaggerated patience. “Somebody wants us, the authorities, I should say, to think that the Osprey is responsible.”

  I braced my hands on the sides of my chair, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I made a wish but when I opened my eyes I was still in the food court with the Pester looking at me like I was the one who was crazy.

  “I’d like to see this osprey.”

  “You already have.”

  “I have?”

  “Sure, you met him.”

  “I met the osprey?” I pinched my brows together. There was going to be a raptor show on Sunday, the closing day of the American Birding Expo, but I hadn’t seen any live birds anywhere. Not yet.

  “Yeah, Marty.”

  This time I did fall out of my chair. Esther stuck out her hand and I took it. “Thanks,” I said, red-faced, as I dusted myself off.

  “Let me get this straight.” I returned to my chair and waved to the million eyes staring at us to show that everything was okay—which it most definitely was not. “Marty. Martin Ritter is the osprey?”

  “That’s right. With a capital O.”

  “The same Martin Ritter whose tombstone you showed me yesterday at the cemetery?”

  “He isn’t really dead, Amy.”

  That was one thing we could at least agree on.

  “You’re wasting a lot of time going over the obvious, Amy.”

  I gave her a deadly look. “Humor me. Explain how Marty can be an osprey.”

  Esther beckoned me forward with her finger. I leaned closer. “That’s his code name: the Osprey. At least it was his code name.”

  “Code name, right.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “And somebody wants us, wants the police, to think that Marty slit JJ Fuller’s throat?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. The Osprey always leaves behind a feather. That’s his thing.”

  Was slitting throats his thing too?

  “Wh
y would somebody want to pin JJ’s murder on your friend? Did he have a motive?”

  “No.”

  “Were the two men enemies?”

  “Nope. Marty says they never met.”

  “So why in heaven’s name would somebody be trying to frame Marty?”

  “You don’t get it. They aren’t exactly trying to pin the blame on Marty. They’re trying to pin the blame on the Osprey.”

  I hooded my eyes. “You said Marty was the Osprey!”

  “Shh.” Esther flapped her hands. “Lower your voice. You want the whole world to know what’s going on, Amy?”

  “The whole world?” I hissed in disbelief. “The whole world? How could I possibly tell the whole world what’s going on when I don’t have a clue what’s going on myself?”

  Esther cleared her throat and stood.

  “Where are you going?”

  “It’s a long story and I’m thirsty.” She pulled a small wad of cash from her pocket. “You want anything?”

  “Only if it’s one hundred proof,” I shot back, not caring who heard me now. I folded my arms across my chest as I watched Esther toddle off to the refreshment stand as if she had all the time in the world.

  By the time she’d returned with her frozen lemonade, I was fuming and had a migraine the size of a quasar.

  She sat, sucked noisily at her straw. “Marty and I go way back.”

  “Right, you were lovers.” Even as I said the words, I had a hard time getting my head around them. “And then he died. Well, he didn’t die exactly…”

  A rumble came from Esther’s throat. “Are you gonna let me tell this or are you going to keep interrupting?”

  We glared at one another.

  I caved first. “Fine. Please, continue.”

  “Marty is a retired agent.”

  “You bought a house from the guy? Is that how you met?”

  “Not a real estate agent. He’s what you might call an agent of a foreign country.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Esther rattled the tabletop with her fingers. “A spy, Amy. Boy you are dense. Marty used to be a spy.”

  “A spy?” I spluttered.

  “A spy.”

  I grabbed Esther’s frozen lemonade and pressed the side of the cup to my temple.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Detective Locke striding into the food court. There was a uniformed officer with him. The officer had one of those medical walking boots on his left leg. Kim had worn a similar one when she’d broken her foot when it connected with a submerged rock on a Breckenridge, Colorado ski slope.

  The two representatives of the law headed for the bagel stand.

  “Marty and I go way back,” Esther began, oblivious to the detective and his companion. “We met for the first time here in Philadelphia.”

  “You said you don’t do Philadelphia.”

  “It was the seventies. I did Philadelphia in the seventies.”

  I set the frozen drink on the table and Esther sucked noisily for a minute, rattling my brain. I was afraid to ask the next question, the one that was slamming like a sledgehammer behind my skull dying to get out. And it did. “Are you, that is, were you a spy, too, Esther?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation. Then she nodded.

  “You and Marty? What, like a team?”

  I couldn’t imagine Esther and Marty as a far less glamorous version of Robert Wagner and Stefanie Powers in Hart to Hart, let alone spies. It was near impossible to imagine Esther during the seventies. She would have been what? About my age now—maybe younger.

  “Marty and I were what you might say working opposite sides of the fence.”

  Another question shot out of some far corner of my mind and slipped through my lips. “Dare I ask whose side you were on?” I was sweating profusely. Which was weird considering I felt like I was sitting on a block of ice. I could no longer feel my toes.

  “What kind of question is that?” Esther squeezed her cup. Lemon slush gushed over the sides. “I was—”

  Detective Locke interrupted. “Ms. Pilaster?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  Good grief. The woman was sounding like a doddering old woman again. She’d probably studied acting in How to Be a Spy 101.

  “I’d like you to accompany me down to police headquarters.”

  Esther’s brow creased. “What for?”

  I stood. Esther remained seated and silent.

  The uniformed officer took a clumsy step in my direction. He halted when Detective Locke raised his hand. “Take it easy, Clark.”

  “Yes, sir.” The officer frowned and took a bite of his untoasted bagel.

  “Ms. Pilaster, if you would, please.” The detective stepped back as Esther stood.

  “Detective Locke,” I began, “surely you can ask Esther whatever questions you want right here. There’s no need to take her down to the station. Is there? It’s the middle of the Expo. I need her.”

  “Sorry, this can’t wait.”

  Officer Clark laid his fingers over her elbow.

  “Let go of me.” Esther jumped aside, crashing into the detective.

  Officer Clark hobbled towards her.

  Detective Locke narrowed his eyes. “Esther Pilaster, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of James Jules Fuller.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I squeaked.

  “The knife used in the commission of the murder has been traced to that bagel stand.” The detective pointed. The woman behind the counter glared at us. “She is prepared to testify that Ms. Pilaster stole that knife from the bagel stand and—”

  “Borrowed,” interrupted Esther. “I only borrowed the knife.” She snatched her purse from the table.

  “For heaven’s sake, be quiet, Esther,” I admonished.

  “And I believe Ms. Pilaster used it to slit Mr. Fuller’s throat.” Detective Locke waved at Officer Clarke. “Let’s go.”

  Esther appeared tiny as I watched her being marched away.

  8

  I ran to the booth, dodging startled attendees left and right. “Esther has been arrested!”

  Robin and George turned to stare at me.

  Karl and Floyd were playing cards at the back table. Karl looked up from his hand. Floyd threw his cards on the table.

  “What’s this?”

  “Esther. She’s been arrested.” I latched onto Derek’s arm.

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m serious.”

  Karl cleared his throat. “I know the two of you have had your differences but I never thought you’d have the woman arrested, Amy. You’ve got guts, I’ll hand you that.”

  Floyd leapt to his feet, jarring the table. “You had Esther arrested?”

  “No, no, Floyd. I had nothing to do with it. It was that detective—”

  “Locke?” Derek inquired. “So you are serious?”

  “Yes. He came to the food court with another officer.”

  Floyd wrung his hands. “And they just took her away?”

  “What for?” Karl demanded. “Littering or just plain orneriness?”

  “This is serious, Karl.” I motioned for the three of them to huddle with me in the corner of the booth.

  “Detective Locke seems to think that Esther killed JJ Fuller,” I whispered.

  “No.” Floyd backed into the curtain and thrashed about. Karl extracted him.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “What evidence do they have?” asked Derek.

  I explained how Esther had been using the knife that killed him right here in our booth. “It doesn’t help that she was witnessed arguing with the man here earlier either.”

  “Esther wouldn’t harm a fly,” Floyd vowed.

  I wasn’t sure if that was true but I knew Esther was no killer. At lea
st not in this case. Had she been a spy? If so, had she ever…no, I wasn’t even going to go there.

  “Where’s the Osprey?”

  “The what?” Karl asked.

  “I mean, Marty. Where did he go?”

  “Don’t ask me,” said Karl. “The guy flew out of here like something or someone was after him.”

  Karl didn’t know how right he might be.

  Floyd shoved his arms into his jacket.

  “Where are you going, Floyd?” I asked.

  “To the police station to check on Esther.”

  “Wait for me, Floyd.” Derek brushed his lips across my cheek and grabbed his jacket.

  “Let me know what you find out.”

  That left Karl and me alone in the booth.

  “Everything okay?” Robin leaned over the low curtain between us.

  “Personnel issues,” I said lamely.

  Karl tapped me on the shoulder. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll do a little snooping.”

  “Good idea. Me, too.”

  “What about the booth?”

  I thought a moment. “Keep an eye on our booth for a bit?”

  “No problem,” Robin agreed.

  We agreed to meet up at the booth in an hour. He was going to check with the Expo Center’s security folk. I wanted a word with Phoebe Gates. Maybe she had some information on JJ Fuller’s murder that she might be willing to share.

  Phoebe looked up and smiled when I poked my head in her office. “Hi, Phoebe. Got a minute?”

  Phoebe waved me in. A woman sat across from Phoebe with her back to me.

  “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

  The seated visitor turned. It was Ilsa Skoglund.

  “I was just leaving. Remember,” Ilsa Skoglund said, clutching the canvas bag at her side, “not a word until my announcement.”

  “Of course.” Phoebe motioned for me to sit. “What can I do for you?”

  “You heard about the murder, of course.”

  The corners of Phoebe’s mouth turned down. “Who hasn’t? It’s bad for business.”

  It had been pretty bad for JJ Fuller too. “The police seem to think that Esther had something to do with it.”

  “Esther?” Phoebe scooped up a pile of mail and shoved it into her desk drawer. “That’s ridiculous. She’s a dear.”