The Woodpecker Always Pecks Twice

by J. R. Ripley

  “But, Jerry—”

  “No buts about it.” Jerry held open the door and gestured that it was time to leave. “And no, I repeat, no butting in!”

  “What happened to Bessie’s camera, Jerry?”

  “What camera?” Jerry leaned against the open door. A hesitant customer in the doorway looked from him to me, caught in the crossfire.

  “Come on in,” I said with an encouraging wave. “I’ll be right with you.”

  The woman hesitated on the porch, then entered. I repeated that I’d be right with her, then stepped outside with the chief. “Bessie had a camera with her when we went on our bird walk the other day,” I said, lowering my voice. “A very expensive camera.”

  “So?”

  “So, I remember”—and could unfortunately picture clearly—“that Bessie did not have her camera with her when I found her. Her binoculars were around her neck, but not her camera.”

  “So?” Jerry repeated. “What’s your point?”

  “Where’s Bessie’s camera?”

  Chief Kennedy shoved me ever-so-gently aside. “How the heck should I know? Maybe she left it at home. Didn’t want to carry it around. Was out of film or just not in the mood to be taking pictures!” Jerry bounded off the porch and into the sunlight.

  “It was a digital camera. She didn’t need film. Are you saying you didn’t find any sign of her camera at the crime scene?” I called desperately as Jerry headed down the walk. He’d parked his squad car at the curb.

  Riley stood, dusting his dirt-black hands on his denim jeans and enjoying the show.

  “No!” barked Jerry. He yanked open the door and plopped behind the wheel. “And if I find any sign of you at any of my crime scenes, you’ll be spending the night in jail!”

  The door creaked behind me. “Excuse me,” began the woman who’d come in, “can you tell me the price of those twenty-pound bags of safflower seeds?”

  “Of course,” I said. I held up a finger. “I’ll be with you in a second. I promise.” There was one more thing I wanted to quiz Jerry about. If he could tell me the exact time of Bessie Hammond’s death, give or take, I’d be able to figure who might have had the opportunity to murder her. All I had to do was find out where everyone had been at the time in question.

  But when I turned around, it was to the sound and sight of the police cruiser peeling away and heading uptown on Lake Shore Drive.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Oh!” I turned and smiled. “Good morning, Channing. I didn’t see you there.”

  The young woman pointed next door. “I stopped at the pub.” She looked embarrassed and twisted her sandal into the porch. “I put in an application. I hope you don’t mind? I know you said you might have something, but I wasn’t sure and I really could use a job.”

  I grinned. “No, of course I don’t mind. I understand completely. You have to consider all your options.” I caught Riley, on his knees in the topsoil, ogling Channing. She had on a pair of skinny jeans and a white blouse with a frilly collar open at the neckline. If I’d had her cleavage, I might have forgotten a button or three myself.

  My cousin considers himself something of a ladies’ man. The ladies consider him more the town clown. Not that they meant that in a mean-spirited way, only that Riley can’t be taken too seriously. “How about sweeping the sidewalk when you’re finished, Riley?”

  “I’ll get right on it!” Riley promised.

  I pulled Channing inside. “Come on in. Let’s talk where we’ve got some AC.” And no prying ears or ogling eyes. Then I spotted my near-forgotten customer. I told Channing where to find the refreshments and promised I’d be with her shortly.

  After disposing of my customer—and happy to make my first sale of the day—I checked the answering machine. The sole message was from Kim. I couldn’t make out half of what she was saying because she sounded like she was either blubbering, drunk, or both. Either way, the gist of her garbled message was that she wouldn’t be coming into the store to work today.

  Great. I caught up with Channing, who had made herself a cup of hot chamomile tea. She sat in one of the pair of rockers, legs crossed. “Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Simms.”

  “It’s Amy, remember?” I said. “How did it go at the biergarten?”

  “Mr. Anderson said he was very sorry but that he didn’t have any openings at the moment. Still, he had me fill out an application. He told me to leave my number in case something should open up.”

  “I’ll bet,” I muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  “Have you ever worked retail before?” I sat beside her, resting my feet.

  Channing shook her head in the negative. “Only briefly in a friend’s boutique.”

  “Not to worry.” I clamped my hands on my knees. “We run a simple operation around here.”

  Channing’s face lit up. “You mean you’ll hire me?”

  I nodded. “Only part-time, mind you. And, like I said, I can’t pay much.”

  Channing reached over and squeezed my hand. “I don’t need much, Amy. A few hours a week. I do have my chores at the house. And it’s only for the summer,” she gushed. “Then I’m going home.”

  “Ten hours a week okay to start with?” We agreed on a rate and schedule. I figured I could afford to help out a needy young adult. I’d been one myself not so long ago. It might mean tightening my own belt, but my jeans had been a little too snug for comfort of late.

  Besides, if anything, having Channing around would give Esther someone to boss around besides me.

  * * *

  I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon cooling my heels, assisting customers, and straightening up the store in the dead times in between.

  I left a message at Derek’s office and on his cell phone. Both calls had so far gone unreturned. That was nothing unusual, normally, what with him being a busy attorney, but today it got under my skin.

  I called Kim, too. The only phone she’s got is a cell. My call went straight to voicemail. “Whatever you’re doing, call me back,” I pleaded. “And ask Randy if he’ll give me a ride to the dump.”

  I heard a beep and then, “The dump!” sobbed Kim. “Did you have to say the dump?”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. All the while I could hear Kim sniveling mournfully.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, returning the phone to my ear.

  “What’s wrong is that-that-that—”

  “Yes?” I was getting worried now.

  “Randy dumped me!” Kim shouted thickly. “He dumped me and said he was going back to his wife!”

  16

  “No! You mean he’s getting back together with Lynda?”

  “He’s already back with that—that—” I heard my friend gulp air and sigh loudly. Something metallic rattled in the background. “That Lynda!”

  “Kim, I am so sorry!” But I was only a little bit surprised. A customer walked in and Riley followed behind. I motioned for him to assist her.

  Riley raced over to my side at the counter. “I don’t know nothing about birds, Amy!”

  “I’m on the phone here, Riley. Handle it,” I insisted. Riley slithered off after the squat woman in a magenta summer dress as she examined the birdhouses, pinching her chin between her fingers.

  I stepped out the back for some privacy and spent the next twenty minutes listening to Kim spill her guts.

  “I sold one!” Cousin Riley squealed enthusiastically as I walked back inside the now empty store.

  “Aunt Betty will be so proud,” I deadpanned.

  Riley bobbed his head. “Yeah. Mom only thinks of me being good with my hands.” He extended said hands, his fingernails loaded with garden dirt. “Wait’ll she hears I’m good with selling stuff, too.”

  “That’s terrific, Riley.” I draped my arm over his left shoulder. “Now, listen to me. I have to go out.”

  “But—”

  I cut him off. “It’s an emergency.” Of sorts. Kim needed
me.

  “But who’s going to mind the store?”

  I looked him dead in the eyes. “You are.” Heaven help us all.

  Riley took a step back, bumping into the cash register. “Oh, no!”

  “Oh, yes.” I planted my hands on his shoulders. “You can do it.” My cousin had gone pale. I threw him a lifeline. “Listen, call my mom or your mom or even Esther, if you want. I’m sure one of them can come down and lend you a hand.”

  Like his twin sister, Rhonda, Cousin Riley has thick brown hair, hazel eyes, and a generous nose. Those eyes now glistened with fear. “When will you be back?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, grabbing my car keys and purse. “A couple of hours tops.” Who knew how long it would actually take to bring Kim down to earth, back to the living?

  * * *

  It took me about fifteen minutes to get across town due to the summer tourist traffic clogging the main road. The tourists come for the boating, the hiking, and the fresh air as much as they come for the quaint taffy-, trinket-, and fine-art shops in town.

  Though it was the middle of the day, the curtains at Kim’s Craftsman-style bungalow were pulled tight. I parked in the drive behind Kim’s car and raced up the porch steps.

  The front door was unlocked, so I let myself in. Kim was parked on the black leather sofa watching a soap opera. A big bowl of popcorn sat between her legs and the clothes she was wearing looked like they’d been slept in. The popcorn was half gone. So was Kim, by the looks of her.

  Kim looked at me through a pair of swollen, red eyes that the sorriest, saddest puppy dog in the world could not have matched.

  “You want to talk about it?” I helped myself to a handful of popcorn. “Scoot over.”

  Kim obliged, pulling a throw pillow along with her. We watched the soap for a little while. I had no idea who all these people were and why they were all conniving against one another, but when one regal woman accused a second, younger woman, with a nose that looked like it had been chiseled by some modern-day Michelangelo, of stealing her husband, I figured it was time we quit. I grabbed the remote and cut the power.

  “Hey!” complained Kim, shooting me a dirty look. “What did you do that for? It was just getting interesting!”

  I grabbed the popcorn bowl from between her thighs. “I think you’ve had enough TV and enough of this. I, on the other hand . . .” I shoveled another mouthful of buttered popcorn into my mouth and chewed with exaggerated side-to-side movements of my jaw. “Mmmm, good.”

  Kim smiled. “You’re an idiot. No, correction,” she said, punching her white satin throw pillow. “I’m an idiot.”

  “So how did you find out?” I asked softly.

  Kim turned up her lip. “I went to his house this morning and Lynda answered the door.” She twisted the pillow in her hands so violently I thought it might rip in two. “Wearing Randy’s pajamas.”

  “Ouch.” At least this time Kim wouldn’t be blaming me for the breakup. She’d broken up with Randy briefly some months ago over something I had innocently said, and she’d it taken the wrong way. This time, the blame was all on Randy.

  “Yeah,” she sniffed. “Ouch.”

  I grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry. You know he didn’t deserve you, right?”

  Kim smiled. “I guess so. I thought we really had something, too.” She tossed her hand. “All this time, he kept saying the divorce was going to be final any day. Instead . . .”

  “Yeah.” Instead the creep had dumped my best friend and gone back to his wife. “Men are jerks,” I said, fully prepared to toe the line in support of the woman who was like a sister to me.

  “Don’t worry, Amy, I’m sure Derek is different.”

  I thought about it, but only for a second. “Yeah, I think so. I’m pretty certain he’d never go back to Amy the Ex.” The woman was a piece of work and then some. I told Kim what had happened at the Birds and Brews gathering, especially the parts about Gus and Derek.

  “I wouldn’t dwell on it.” Kim managed a small smile, though her cheeks still looked rather puffy and her forehead was mottled pink and white. “Talk to Derek. He’ll understand.”

  “Talk to him? Wouldn’t that be nice? I haven’t managed to be alone in a room with him for what seems like days.” The wheels in my head spun like hamsters in a rodent spin class.

  Kim caught the look in my eyes. “What?”

  “All this man stuff. And what I told you about Gus McKutcheon coming on to me.”

  “Maybe coming on to you,” countered Kim.

  “Maybe coming on to me,” I aped with a roll of the eyes. “Anyway, I know you said I shouldn’t, but I really think I ought to say something to Moire Leora about the guy.”

  Kim sighed. “Not that again.”

  “Yes, that again. What’s wrong with giving a woman a heads-up that her lover may not be so . . . devoted, shall we say?” I thumped her in the chest with the pillow. “You of all people right now should appreciate the thought.”

  “Even in my sorry state, I know better than to stick my nose into somebody else’s love life.”

  “Ha!”

  Kim scrunched up her face. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means you’re always sticking your nose in mine.”

  “That’s different,” she said with a dismissive toss of the hand.

  “Different?” I crossed my arms. “Different how?”

  “You’re like family. Family’s always sticking their noses in each other’s lives.”

  I had to agree and said so.

  Kim drew her legs up. “Do you want a drink?”

  “No,” I said. “Neither do you.” One glass of wine or two and Kim’s ebullient. More than that and she’s on a bus to morose-ville. In fact, she was three-quarters of the way there now. I needed to get her headed back in the opposite direction. “Besides, alcohol and breakups don’t mix.”

  Kim pulled a face. “That makes no sense at all.”

  She was right, of course, but all my hair could fall out and my teeth turn green before I’d admit it—especially since I’d already just agreed with her on something. I didn’t want her to think we were going to start making a habit of that. Our relationship would be forever changed if I let Kim think she was always right. “Let’s get out of here,” I suggested.

  Kim’s brow went up. “And go where?”

  I smiled. “How about a little bird-watching?”

  “Bird-watching?” Kim’s nose, already red from crying her heart out, wrinkled up. “Amy, I’ve told you a million times that I’m really not much into this whole bird-watching thing. Let’s watch another soap.”

  “What if I told you what we’re really doing is looking for clues?”

  “Clues?” Kim quipped. “Can’t we go looking for booze instead?”

  “Another time,” I answered. “We’re going searching for evidence that will lead us to Bessie Hammond’s killer. What do you say?”

  Kim curled her lip. “So, no booze, huh?”

  I shook my head no as I said, “Definitely not.”

  “Fine.” Kim caved. “Then I’d say, lead on, Sherlock.” She stood, dusting bits of popcorn kernels and granules of salt from her dark clothing. “Anything is better than sitting around here feeling sorry for myself.” Kim picked her purse up from the floor. “Besides, I can always feel sorry for myself while I’m helping you look for clues.”

  “That’s the spirit!” I said. I headed for the door. I took the popcorn with me.

  * * *

  I parked the van at the marina and we followed the same hiking trail I’d led my little birding group down the other morning. The sun was heading to the west now, but I knew we still had several hours of daylight before we had to worry. I did not want to be in the woods after dark. Only killers and their sexy but witless and doomed victims dared do that.

  Through a break in the trees, I spotted Ethan Harrow’s boat, the Sunset Sally, bobbing in Ruby Lake along with dozens of other vessels, large and small. I could ma
ke out the captain by his size. There were three others aboard, probably his mate, Jean, and a couple of charters. Fishing poles dangled off the stern.

  “I’m thirsty,” complained Kim, stumbling along behind me. She stopped and leaned a hand against a pine. She pulled off a shoe and watched two small pebbles drop out. “You didn’t tell me we’d be roughing it,” she groused as she slid her moccasin back on her foot. “I would have worn better shoes.”

  I ignored the bellyaching remarks and urged her on after taking a look around to recalculate my bearings. Our bird-watching group had come this way, I was sure of it. I pulled my teeth across my lower lip and swatted a horsefly that had it in for me. I pointed. “The little cemetery I was telling you about is that way.” I turned. “So, that means Bessie was found over there.” I pointed about twenty degrees to my left.

  “Can’t we turn around and go home?” Kim moaned. “I’m starting to think this isn’t such a good idea.” Her shirt was drenched in sweat and she was pink in the face—this time from exertion and sun exposure rather than crying and psychological distress. I took that as a good sign. “We’ve been walking for hours.”

  “Don’t exaggerate. It hasn’t been that long. Come on, Kim. It can’t be more than a couple hundred yards further. And keep your eyes open for—”

  “I know, I know. You’ve told me a hundred times: We’re looking for clues,” she said, her voice rising in pitch. “Whatever they might be.” She threw her hands in the air to show her growing displeasure.

  “And Bessie’s camera,” I reminded her, ignoring her attitude.

  “Yeah, yeah. A camera.”

  She hobbled along after me, and before long we came to the sycamore where I’d discovered Bessie Hammond’s corpse.

  “That’s it,” I whispered, pausing at the clearing. The ground all around had been trampled by the feet of the police and rescue personnel.

  Otherwise, there was not a single trace of death. Except that it somehow hung in the air, like a specter that I couldn’t shake. A chill ran up my arms and I rubbed them.

  Kim had edged closer. “So this is the spot, huh?”

  I nodded in silence.

  “It looks to me like the police have been all over this place.” She squatted and ran a hand over the trampled undergrowth. “I doubt if even our pal Jerry could have missed a digital camera lying around.”