Cornflowers and Corpses

by London Lovett

  Since the area had been thankfully cleared, I took the liberty to lean over Mason's body and give it a good sniff. The blood was drying but still overwhelming. I twitched my nose to try and get the acrid, metallic smell out of my olfactory cells. Certain odors were more easily dismissed than others. Unfortunately, blood, especially in copious amounts, did not fall into that category.

  Still, I managed to find some heavily concentrated patches of fresh pine. Ivy had mentioned that she was perched in a pine tree waiting for a good shot. Had Mason used the same technique of tree sitting?

  While I continued my nose survey, I couldn't help but think back to the morning when Nora threatened him with bird attacks and other creative dangers. She had gone through something horribly humiliating. Was she angry enough to kill Mason? It sure seemed that way at the coffee shop.

  My main take away from the nasal inspection was pine. It was hardly an odd smell for the location, but I wondered how Mason got so much of it on his clothes. In the distance, siren screams were being lifted away from their sources and distributed into the ocean air. It was hard to get a sense of how close they were, but my time was limited. Since I'd had the grim privilege of discovering the dead body, it seemed only right that I got first crack at the evidence.

  I glanced around, then my eyes swept down across Mason's boots. His feet rested in a dried pile of forest debris, but directly in front of the heels were two channels where the debris had been cleared to the rich, loamy soil beneath. My gaze followed the two, long divots, and I quickly discovered two thin trails through the debris. It seemed someone had dragged Mason's lifeless body across forest floor. The killer might have thought they could hide his body but, apparently, underestimated the victim's size or overestimated the width and depth of the shrub. The concentrated pine smell was beginning to make sense. A good portion of the litter on the forest floor was fallen pine needles. I followed the fairly easy to spot heel trail about fifty feet across the clearing to a large pine tree. My shoe tapped something in the fallen needles.

  I stooped down and carefully brushed away some of the dried needles, taking care not to touch the object beneath. A pair of binoculars was nestled into the debris. Its leather strap was broken away from the binoculars on one side. It seemed Mason might have struggled to get away from his attacker.

  Voices pulled me from my thoughts. I pushed to my feet and headed back to the trail to meet up with Briggs. I had plenty to tell him. Halfway along the trail left by the heels of Mason's boots, a flash of red caught my eye. I glanced down and spotted a bright red feather sticking out of some dead leaves. I had never seen anything like it. I wondered what kind of bird it belonged to. I leaned down and picked it up. It felt soft and silky in my fingers as I pushed it gently into the pocket of my shorts.

  Detective James Briggs was the first person to emerge from the curtain of evergreen. He was followed closely by two paramedics, both carrying their heavy gear, none of it necessary. Two Mayfield police officers followed behind the paramedics.

  Briggs spotted Mason's boots before I had a chance to point out the shrub. He circled the bush and immediately parted the branches to get a good look at the upper torso and head. He disappeared almost entirely into the glossy green foliage for a good minute, then reappeared wearing latex gloves and a grim expression. He shook his head at the paramedics, but they'd already figured they weren't going to be needed. They turned around and trekked back, heavy bags and all, toward the parking area.

  I waited patiently while Briggs briefly gave instructions for evidence collection and told one of the attending officers to make sure no one entered the trail area. He made a quick call to the coroner's office, then put away his phone and pulled out his notebook.

  There was a glimmer of affection in his brown eyes as he approached me and straightened into his official posture. "Well, Pinkerton, it seems you have stumbled upon another murder scene. A fatal stabbing, if my first guess is right." He motioned for me to follow him a few feet away from where the action was about to take place. "Have you found out who the victim is?" he asked.

  "Didn't need to find out. I already knew. His name is Mason Fanning, and he's a member of the West Coast Bird Watching Society. They're in town for the bird convention. Would you like to know more?" I asked with a bright smile.

  He pulled out his pen. "Of course."

  "Now, I'm just an amateur investigator, of course," I said pointedly, "but my guess would be that Mason was attacked and stabbed over by that big pine tree. Then the killer dragged his body across the trail to that shrub. I think they were hoping to hide his body completely, but as you see, Mason is a big man." I pointed out the two nearly parallel drag lines through the forest debris and showed him how they stopped at the heels of Mason's boots.

  Briggs surveyed everything as he walked to the pine tree.

  "Watch out for the pair of binoculars," I said from behind. "They are sort of half buried under the tree. It looks as if the strap had been broken in some sort of struggle."

  Briggs stopped and stared down at the pair of binoculars. He pulled out his phone and took a picture before crouching down and touching some of the debris with his gloved fingers. He lifted his hand and rubbed smears of blood between two fingers.

  "I think your theory was right," he said. "Mr. Fanning was stabbed right here under this tree. Then his attacker dragged him toward the shrub, hoping to hide the body." He pushed up to standing. There was the slightest glint of pride in his faint smile. He always worked hard to stay stony faced and professional at a murder scene, but I knew him well enough to detect even the slightest show of emotion.

  "Is that all you know about our victim?" he asked. "Or do you know where I should start with the interviews?"

  I shrugged shyly. "Oh . . . I might know where to start."

  Chapter 15

  After some more detailed instruction to the evidence team, Briggs had time to hear details about the dynamics between the group members before the coroner and his team arrived.

  Briggs stood with pen in hand ready to write down information. It was cute and kind of impractical.

  "I've got sort of a long story." I hopped up on tiptoes and peered over at his notepad. "Not sure if you'll be able to fit it all on your little detective pad."

  "Fine, Miss Sarcasm, just tell me the important parts, and I'll try to summarize."

  "All right but summaries are not my strong suit. Here goes. The first person you'll want to talk to is Nora Banks."

  He jotted down her name and put a star by it. "See, my little notebook works just fine."

  I chuckled behind my hand. "All right. Remember last night when I told you I went to the big bird convention they're having in the Mayfield Auditorium, and I told you there was a whole drama thing but I wasn't in the mood to relay details. Well, now I think I better tell you the details because Mason Fanning was involved in the drama and so was—" I pointed to the name on his pad. "Nora Banks. Nora was putting on a much anticipated presentation. Apparently, for months she had been boasting to her fellow bird watchers that she had captured a rare image of a Goshawk, in flight no less."

  Briggs blinked his heavy dark lashes at me. "A what?"

  I waved my hand. "A Goshawk. It's a type of hawk."

  "That part I figured out on my own."

  "Anyhow, it's a bird that is rarely photographed, and so it was a big deal. Only Nora didn't really capture the image. It turned out she stole an old image from a photographer who had actually captured a picture of the real thing. Poor Nora seemed to have a terrible case of guilt before she showed the slide. She shut down the presentation." I shook my head. "I thought she might just pass out from nerves. Well, Mason Fanning"—I pointed back over my shoulder in case Briggs forgot who Mason was—"Mason had been standing in the wings, off stage, with what I could only describe as a condescending, arrogant, smug grin."

  Briggs had been scribbling quickly in his notebook. He paused and looked up at me. "I'll just put smug."

  "I g
uess that's all right. Mason was not going to let Nora get away without showing the slide she'd been bragging about for months. He lumbered over to the stage and flipped on the slide. He just as quickly reminded the audience where the original photo had come from. Nora left in complete and utter despair. Humiliated in front of all her bird watching peers."

  "Sounds like Nora is a good place to start." Briggs flipped the page. "Anyone else?"

  "There is a woman named Ivy." I tapped my chin. "Let me think. Her last name was comically appropriate." I snapped my fingers. "That's right. Eagleton. Ivy Eagleton. She was one of the few brave people who was at my side when the women who discovered the body screamed. I must say, she was more than brave. The sight of a dead body, no matter how hidden in a shrub, didn't seem to upset her at all. Especially considering she knew the victim. Not that she had any love for the man." I crinkled my nose. "He was not a likable guy, and according to Nora, Mason wasn't liked by too many people."

  He bunched his dark brows. "So you've already spoken to Nora? Lacey, you—"

  "Hold off on the lecture, Detective. This was all before any body was found. Nora spotted Mason sipping coffee at Les's tables this morning. She jumped out of her car to give him an earful of what she thought of him. She had a lot to say on that matter, but I led her into the flower shop to calm her down. That's when she told me no one liked Mason."

  Right then, a perfectly timed groan of anguish rolled toward us. A thirty-something tall, lean and well-groomed man had somehow gotten past the police. He stood near the body and braced his hands against his thighs to catch his breath.

  "Looks as if at least someone liked him," Briggs said. He pushed the notebook into his coat pocket. "Let's find out who he is."

  "I think his name is John Jacobs."

  Briggs stopped and looked at me. "How on earth—"

  "What can I say—I'm like a fly on the wall in everyone's lives."

  He shook his head and continued toward the bereaved man. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you've secretly been a member of the West Coast Bird Watching Society."

  I skipped a few paces to keep up with his stride. "I have learned a lot about them." I tugged at his arm. "That reminds me. I did a nasal inspection, and there was an inordinate amount of pine on Mason's clothes."

  Briggs surveyed the ground. "Makes sense if he was dragged across pine needles."

  "It does but just as a side note, I smelled an unusual concentration of pine on Ivy Eagleton when I was delivering the brownies to the picnic."

  His puzzled expression was always adorable. "You were baking brownies for the bird watching club?" he asked.

  "Not me. As you know, my brownies come from a box. They were Elsie's brownies."

  He gave his head a short shake. "You're giving me whiplash, Lacey. Let's keep to the part about the pine scent on Ivy."

  "You were the one who asked about the brownies," I reminded him. "Anyhow, at the time, I asked Ivy about the pine. She was shocked I could smell it, so I told her about my—" I tapped my nose but put a pause on that part of the conversation because apparently I was giving him whiplash. (Insert mental eye roll here.) "Ivy said she'd been perched in a pine tree. She's a photographer more than she's a bird watcher. She said she gets the best shots from a tree branch."

  "Makes sense but I'll talk to her." Briggs continued toward the man, John Jacobs, presumably. He was visibly shaken as we reached him.

  Briggs showed the man his badge. "I'm Detective Briggs. Were you a friend of Mason Fanning?"

  The man nodded and took a visible, deep swallow before speaking. "Can't believe it." His voice was dry and hoarse. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I'm just so shaken up about it."

  "And you're—?" Briggs asked.

  "Sorry, yes, I'm John Jacobs. I was Mason's friend. I hate to admit, I was probably his only friend."

  Briggs flicked a look my way. I had to work not to flash back a cocky smile. So far I'd been right about everything. I only wished I had more insight into who hated Mason the most.

  "Is it true someone killed him? He didn't just fall or hurt himself? I can't believe someone from the club would do this," John said.

  John smoothed his already slick hair back over his head. My guess would have been that he spent a great deal of time in front of a mirror. He wore a great deal of aftershave too, something with musk, according to my nose. It was definitely a fragrance I would have noticed on Mason's clothing if he had struggled with his attacker and his attacker happened to be his one friend, John Jacobs. That scientific fact and John's genuine reaction to seeing his friend dead was enough to convince me he was not the culprit. Unless, of course, he had killed Mason before rushing back to his home or hotel to freshen up and splash on aftershave so he could put on a great performance of looking utterly shocked. My intuition was not giving that theory a green light. Too far-fetched.

  Briggs took his time and let John collect himself again before prodding further.

  "Would you say Mason had a lot of enemies?"

  John seemed torn on whether to answer. Either he didn't want to get any of his club mates in trouble or he didn't want to talk badly about his dead friend. "Look," he finally said after a long pause, "Mason was sort of an arrogant, cold individual. I'll be the first to admit he took way too much pleasure in other people's pain. There was an incident last night at the convention—" he started.

  "With Nora Banks?" Briggs asked.

  John looked rightly impressed. "Oh, you've already heard about it."

  Briggs cast me a secret wink. "Yes, I understand Mason humiliated Miss Banks in front of the club members."

  John nodded sadly. "He did. It was terribly cruel but typical Mason Fanning behavior."

  "It makes me curious," Briggs started. I pepped right up wondering if my brilliant boyfriend had already formulated a possibly theory that John was the killer. I waited for the zinger that might very well end the case before it really got started. (Which would have been thoroughly disappointing.) "Why were you his friend?"

  It was a somewhat disappointing end to an intriguing start, but it was a logical question.

  John glanced back at Mason's body, then turned back to us. "As hard edged as he was, Mason was an interesting guy. He had several degrees, one in ornithology and one in geology. He knew a lot. We didn't hang out much, but whenever the Society got together for outings and travel trips, I partnered with Mason. He was a competent and knowledgeable bird watching friend." It was a genuine and plausible answer.

  One of the Mayfield officers emerged on the trail. "Detective Briggs, the coroner has arrived."

  "Thanks, Officer Rowley, show him to the site, please." Briggs turned back to John. "Will you be around? I might have some more questions for you."

  John nodded. "Sure, whatever you need."

  "By the way, Mr. Jacobs, do you know who we should call? Next of kin?" Briggs asked.

  "I think he has a sister. She lives in Australia. I probably have her name somewhere. I'll look for it. Otherwise, Mason was pretty much a loner."

  Briggs nodded. "Again, thanks for your help."

  Chapter 16

  Nate Blankenship, the local coroner, confirmed that Mason died from a knife wound to the chest. He also confirmed that he didn't die in the shrub but rather was dragged there by his assailant.

  Briggs was writing down some of what Nate had confirmed. I pulled out my phone to let Amelia know what was happening. I'd already sent one text letting her know I wouldn't be back right away. She assured me things were under control and that business had slowed since morning.

  "I hate to leave," I told Briggs as he finished in his notebook. "You know how I love a good murder," I said quietly so no one else could hear.

  "My ghoulish girlfriend." He discretely brushed his hand against mine. "Don't you have a flower shop to run?"

  "Detective Briggs," an officer called from an overgrown area fifty feet off the trail. "We've found something." This particular murder scene was taking much longe
r than the usual scene. The crime had taken place in a thickly forested area, and while the killer had failed at hiding the main piece of evidence, namely the body, they had thus far succeeded at hiding other smaller pieces of evidence, like the murder weapon.

  "Oh that's it," I said, "I'm texting Amelia to let her know I'll be delayed. Otherwise, curiosity will eat at me and regret will overwhelm me."

  Briggs' tilted grin appeared.

  "All right, that might be overdramatic."

  I followed close at his heels. "But I still want to see what they found."

  Officer Rowley, a young officer with red razor rash on his chin, waved us to a section that was surrounded by the haphazard limbs of trees growing nearby. Briggs lifted a particularly long and dangly one and held it up so I could walk beneath it.

  "Right here," Rowley said pointing down to a dark green backpack. It was one of the fancy ones I'd seen at the convention that allowed for your personal belongings and also provided a large pouch for a camera or binoculars. The camera pouch on the backpack was noticeably empty. "Some of the contents are here." He pointed next to the backpack. A notebook with the cover ripped and bent sat next to a tube of suntan lotion and a baggie filled with some sort of trail mix.

  Briggs pulled on his gloves and gently moved the backpack back and forth. The top zipper was open. He pulled free a sweatshirt, a folded up plastic rain slicker and a pocket sized guide to North American birds. "Unless the murder was a botched robbery, it seems someone rummaged through the backpack looking for something." He lifted the backpack out of the leafy litter, unzipped the front pocket and pulled out a leather wallet. "If it was a thief, they missed the most prized item."

  "Since they didn't even bother with the small zipper, we can probably assume they were looking for something bigger. It seems there are three items missing that would be expected in a bird watcher's backpack," I continued. "Binoculars, a camera and a phone."