The Puffin of Death

by Betty Webb

  I had to smile. “No bail money necessary since I didn’t do the deed myself, but did you just say ‘fine feathered friends’?”

  “You didn’t know?” Another cackle. “The ex-Mr. Cowgirl Spencer was a charter member of that stupid birding club, which is one of the many reasons I divorced him. Somehow I’d got it in my mind that he’d help me out with the ranch, but, no, every weekend he took off with those idiots. The day he came home and told me about the breeding habits of the friggin’ sandhill crane and started mimicking their pre-coital arias was the day I threw him out.”

  Well aware of Cowgirl Spencer’s irascible temperament, I suspected there was another side to this story, but truth is irrelevant when you’re coaxing information from an old friend. I gave her the rundown on what had happened since my arrival in Iceland, beginning with Simon Parr’s death and ending with Dawn’s.

  “Can’t say I’m surprised about Dawn,” Cowgirl Spencer sighed. “All she ever cared about was money, and not even Ben had enough for her. Hell, there’s not a millionaire in the county she didn’t go after at one time or another. But Simon! I’m really sorry to hear about that. Weird hair and a bit of a wimp, but a real sweetie. We’re all jealous of Elizabeth down here.”

  I looked at the phone in disbelief. “I’ll give you the weird hair, but wimp? Sweetie? Are we talking about the same Simon Parr? I’ve seen him in action and he was about as far from being a wimp or a sweetie as you can get.” I gave her the details of Simon’s loutish behavior on the plane and in the Viking Tavern, finishing with, “The poor woman left in tears.”

  “Which woman was that?”

  “Adele Cobb.”

  “Oh, yeah, the dark-side-of-forty redhead. A mere case of bad timing there, I figure. Simon always did love his liquor, although I never saw him get mean when he was drinking. If he had, Elizabeth would have done something about it. Strong woman, that. But, yeah, come to think of it, his behavior did start to change after he won all that money, or I might have made a run at him myself! For a fling, you understand, nothing permanent. He’d never leave Elizabeth. She’s his meal ticket. Was, anyway. God, the poor woman! She must feel crushed. Those two were so perfect together, almost like honeymooners, they were…they were…” Her voice caught and she snuffled.

  I gave her time to blow her nose then steered her back on course. “You thought about having a fling with Simon Parr?” Weathered-looking or not, the naturally blond Cowgirl was total man-bait.

  Outside, I could hear one of the geysers spouting again and imagined the patter of droplets as they fell on the roof of my cottage. I was in a country so foreign it might have been another planet, and yet the phone connection was so clear Cowgirl could have been in the next room.

  “Why so surprised at the idea of me going after Simon?” she said, recovering. “Freckle Face, it can sure get lonesome out here among the rattlesnakes and lizards, and the word through the Geronimo County Grapevine is that the man had incredible stamina, if you get my drift. Must’ve been all those long hikes cross country to see the purple-winged nebbish or the fork-tailed flipflop or whatever.” Her tone suddenly changed. “Not that it helped Roscoe any.”

  “Roscoe?”

  “My ex. A banker. Don’t ever marry one. Once they seal the deal, it’s over. I’m thinking about a personal trainer next or a marathon runner, maybe even a boxer. They say boxers are…”

  Not wanting to get bogged down in Cowgirl’s sexual fantasies, I pretend-sneezed, excused myself, and got back on subject. “Happy hunting, then, Cowgirl. Now what can you tell me about the other birders? Dawn’s husband Ben, for instance. I found a newspaper article that he did time for vehicular homicide.”

  A silence for a moment. Outside, another geyser hissed away.

  “Cowgirl?”

  Her sigh carried perfectly all the way from Arizona to Iceland. “Don’t believe everything you hear about Ben, Freckle Face. He’s not the one who ran that man down. Everyone knows Dawn did that. She was driving that night, speeding like crazy, doing one-ten in a forty-five mile zone. Before the cops arrived on the scene, Ben made her change seats with him. Not that he had to do much forcing. Dawn never takes responsibility for her actions. Er, took.”

  In my experience, the phrase “everyone knows” is often the prelude to a stint of unfounded gossip, and maybe that’s what I was after, but it didn’t sit well with me. Dawn was dead, and there was nothing to be gained by slandering her memory.

  Out of necessity, I controlled my irritation. “Why would he do such a stupid thing?”

  “Because as flighty as Dawn could be, Ben was crazy in love with her, and he figured—rightly, I must add—that while he could deal with prison, it would destroy her. No Dior dresses, no two-hundred-dollar-an-ounce eye cream.”

  It sounded noble enough, but if true, wouldn’t the police have noticed that the car’s windshield was cracked on the passenger’s side, not the driver’s? And that Dawn had no injuries? Then I remembered the faint remnants of a scar on her forehead. The original injury must have been more expertly repaired than Ben’s face.

  “What else do you hear on the Geronimo County Grapevine?” I asked.

  Plenty, it turned out. She started with Adele Cobb. “As they say on the cop shows, no wants, no warrants, as far as I know. She’s a perfectly nice woman. Volunteers at the Geronimo County Women’s Shelter, a homeless pet sanctuary, charitable stuff like that. Oh, and a couple of times she’s helped me out with our horses.”

  “She rides?”

  “No, just likes animals. You ought to see her own menagerie—something like seven cats, four dogs, and a Ukrainian-speaking parrot. God only knows how she was able to find a house-sitter to take care of them while she’s in Iceland, but I do know that Simon covered the cost.”

  I’d learned the hard way that someone liking animals doesn’t necessarily mean they’re pure at heart. Or won’t commit murder. “I hear she was arrested once for stalking.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got your own little grapevine twining nicely up there in the frozen north. I hate to burst your bubble, Freckle Face, because that so-called stalking incident eventually came to nothing because it wasn’t really stalking in the first place. Cops dropped the charges. What had happened was, a couple of teenagers burgled Adele’s condo. Some guard dogs those rescues of hers are, huh? Anyway, the kids took her big screen TV and some jewelry Simon had given her. He was always generous to his playmates. Anyway, Adele suspected the neighbors—real punks—were behind the break-in, and decided to play detective on her own.

  “The kid’s parents, potheads the both of them, caught her following them around, peeping through their window, stuff like that, and were stupid enough to call the cops. Adele was held for a few hours, fingerprinted, had her picture taken, the whole deal, but the upshot of it was that the TV and jewelry mysteriously reappeared on her front porch a few days later. Charges were dropped against everyone, even the punk-ass kids. So, nah, the only thing I can say against Adele is that she fell too hard for Simon. She should have known better. I mean, everyone who knew the man knew that once the thrill was gone, and it always did, he’d go back to Elizabeth.”

  “Elizabeth told me she and Simon had what she called a ‘European marriage,’ not that any Europeans I know would agree with that description.”

  She laughed. “The woman confuses her plots with real life. If it’s something her heroine would do, Jadine or Jala some such phony name, Liz would try it, too. And in those books, Jadine screws around with any good-looking guy she comes across.”

  “Jade. Jade L’Amour is the heroine’s name.”

  A snicker. “You read that trash?”

  “Just her recent book.”

  “Total garbage.”

  Cowgirl Spencer might have been quick to condemn certain types of literature, but she was quick to pardon the supposed sins of Perry and Enid Walsh. “Those claims
that they knowingly sold fake gems? Lies! Those two are as honest as summer days are long. They were suckered by their supplier, which even the most imbecilic jury could see, so if anyone told you they served a day in jail, they’re lying. I bought a ring from them, myself, four-carat princess cut, platinum setting. Had it appraised last year, could buy eighty more acres with it, not that I’d want to. God knows I’ve got enough work on my hands as it is.”

  She was less charitable toward the acidic Lucinda Greaves. “Horrible woman, everyone knows that.”

  I nodded, then remembered we were on the phone. “She’s unpleasant, all right.”

  “She has trouble keeping a job, too, because of her mouth. The rumor around here is that she’s about to lose her house. As for Judy, her daughter, I tried a couple of yoga classes at her studio and nearly dislocated my shoulder. Never went back. Other than that, I don’t know much about her. I did hear from someone that Judy suffers from asthma, but I never saw an inhaler in her studio, so I don’t know if it’s true. She looked healthy enough to me. Although maybe a bit too thin. ’Course, that might only be jealously on my part, since I’m a bit too un-thin.”

  “Do you know anything about her getting arrested once? For breaking someone’s window?”

  She made a dismissive sound. “Can’t help you there, Freckle Face. When it happened, I was going through my divorce. All I know is that she got arrested and there was some kind of lawsuit. But since I was experiencing my own courtroom drama, I didn’t pay much attention.”

  Swallowing my disappointment, I asked, “Why do Judy and Lucinda have different last names? Is there an ex Mrs. Judy somewhere?”

  “Nah, Judy’s never been married. But Lucinda’s been married three or four times.”

  I yipped in surprise.

  Cowgirl Spencer laughed. “The first unlucky man was Judy’s father, hence her last name.”

  I was still reeling from shock. “How in the world did such a harridan snag so many men?”

  “Feminine wiles, m’dear. Lucinda always starts off like Miss Sweetie Pie, but once the ring’s on her finger, she reverts to her old self, you know, like a rattlesnake crossed with a scorpion. But none of those guys, even Judy’s father, were worth anything. Not in the financial department or the ethics department. For instance, Lucinda’s second husband, Jim, he was a commercial real estate broker, supposedly brought in big bucks for a while. Then there was some financial hanky-panky and his license got taken away. And as for the home front, there was a rumor Jim made a move on Judy, and the kid was only thirteen at the time. Lucinda went damn near homicidal over it, took after him with a butcher knife before he could say, ‘But, honey, it’s not like it looks.’”

  My dislike for Lucinda slipped a bit. “Good for her.”

  “Exatamundo. Even harridans have their good points.”

  “How about Tab Cooper? Know anything bad about him?” As a zookeeper who spent three-quarters of her waking life up to her knees in muck, I’d grown to be suspicious of anyone who was obsessively neat.

  A brief silence, then, “Oh, no real scandals there unless you consider bad acting a crime. He shows up on TV sometimes, either as a walk-on or as some airhead’s dim-witted boyfriend, which believe me, is total type-casting because that boy couldn’t find his well-pressed bee-hind without a map. But Judy really fell for him. ’Course, she’s not the brightest star in the firmament, either, so I guess they’re a good match.”

  “They’re engaged?”

  “Were. Past tense. Lucinda threw a wrench in the works.”

  “She didn’t approve of Tab? Why not? He seems nice enough, even if he may be a lousy actor.” And too clothes-conscious for my taste.

  “It wasn’t that Lucinda disapproved of the kid so much as that she’d her sights higher for her darling daughter.”

  My own mother had spent half her life shoving eligible bachelors at me, and to her, “eligible” always meant “moneyed.” So with some sympathy I asked, “Did Lucinda have a prospective husband in mind for Judy?”

  “Simon, of course, but only after he won that obscene Powerball payout. If Judy had married him, or played house with him, her and Lucinda’s money troubles would vanish. But now that Simon’s pushing up daisies, it sounds like Judy’s gone back to her pretty boy. Bet that’s got ol’ Lucinda’s knickers in a knot! Listen, Freckle Face, I’m tired of talking about those crazy birders. What about you? Married and settled down with two-point-three kiddies and a golden retriever?”

  It was fun setting Cowgirl straight on my life, and to give the devil her due, she sounded impressed when hearing about my work at the Gunn Zoo. She had always liked animals more than people.

  While I was thinking about the other things we had in common, she said, “Hey, the ranch house has a nice guest room with an ensuite, so there’s no need to be a stranger. I’ve got a couple of horses I’d like to see you try to ride. Besides the Angus, the ranch is a sanctuary for rescued mustangs.”

  “You want me on a mustang?”

  “For as long as you can stay on, Freckle Face. Or are you chicken?” She made clucking noises.

  Intrigued by the thought of riding a mustang across the Arizona desert, I promised to visit someday.

  In the middle of adding how pleased she was about that, she gave a yelp. “Oh, crap! One of the horses got his hoof stuck in the wire fence. Gotta go!”

  The phone went dead.

  It was only later that I realized that I’d asked Cowgirl Spencer everything but one important question.

  Which of the birders did she think was most likely to commit murder?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Despite my frustration at not having asked that important question, I slept dreamlessly through the night and awoke feeling refreshed. Iceland’s pollution-free air had performed yet another miracle. Before stepping into the shower I checked my phone. No messages or texts from Joe, no surprise there, since it was still the middle of the night in California.

  After a quick shower I wandered over to the restaurant, where I found the birders lingering through breakfast. As I approached, I heard Oddi speaking about the benefits of Iceland’s geothermal energy. When I joined them at the table, he broke off to welcome me, but Lucinda cut his warm greeting short.

  “With your ‘old school chum’ dead, I can’t see why you’re still hanging around,” she sniped.

  Some scientific studies claim that the ozone produced by running water is mood-enhancing, but Lucinda apparently hadn’t heard about them. “I’m sure Dawn would have wanted it this way.” Like the others, I could speak for the dead, too.

  Lucinda opened her mouth to say something else, but Elizabeth interjected. “I’m the one who invited Teddy to accompany us on the rest of the tour. I find her knowledge of animals most interesting.”

  “She doesn’t know a tern from a titmouse,” Lucinda muttered, but after a glare from Oddi, fell silent.

  Elizabeth looked less haggard today, so reuniting with her friends must have helped. She even smiled once as I reeled off a list of birds I’d seen on the way from my cottage to the hotel.

  “In addition to the Arctic terns…” this, a snipe at Lucinda…“I saw a blackcap, several mallards, and a scaup.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “I’m hoping for a dotterel, myself. I saw a couple in Ireland, once, and they sometimes make it to Iceland like the hoopoe Simon…” Her eyes dulled momentarily, but after a pause, they brightened again. “Everyone laughed when Simon said we might see a hoopoe before the trip was done, but Inspector Haraldsson showed me some of the pictures Simon took before, well, before what happened, and there it was, big as life. Simon was a wonderful birder. That’s how we met, you know. But I’m sure you’re not interested in that.”

  Fleetingly, I wondered if Haraldsson had shown Elizabeth the other pictures, such as the one Simon had taken of a nude Adele Cobb, but nodded politely
when Judy Malone interjected, “Elizabeth, go ahead and tell Teddy how you two met. It’s such a romantic story!” The young yoga instructor was sitting so close to Tab Cooper that their shoulders touched. Despite the frown Lucinda directed at them, neither moved away.

  I noticed several other restaurant patrons who appeared to be eavesdropping on our table. Fans of romantic suspense, perhaps?

  Elizabeth seemed pleased at Judy’s prompt. “Well, if you insist. Twenty-seven years ago almost to the day, I was in Wyoming doing research for Mesozoic Passion, when this handsome young man wearing binoculars around his neck came up to me and said he recognized me from my book covers. I was flattered. What author wouldn’t be when a good-looking guy says he reads your books? But then he went on to say I’d made an error in Jurassic Passion that, to date, no large flocks of seagulls had ever been spotted swooping up fish from Wyoming lakes. I wasn’t a birder then, you understand. After informing me about a few rare sightings of solo lesser-black-backed gulls, he offered to buy me lunch and I accepted. Long story short, a year later, I moved from Laguna Beach to Arizona to be with him. As they say, the rest is history.”

  Simon Parr? Handsome? I’d only seen him dead, with a chewed-on nose and a bullet through his head, but the idea of him as handsome was a new one.

  My surprise must have showed on my face, because Elizabeth said, “Oh, Teddy, you should have seen him then! Thick black hair—yes, this was before his Elvis sideburns phase, which believe me, I didn’t approve of—bright blue eyes, and a wonderful physique. He was built like a marathon runner, slim and fit. For his fortieth birthday, he even ran, swam, and biked all the way through the Iron Man to prove he could! People were always telling him he should have been an actor. Like you, Tab.”