by J. R. Ripley
I said that it was. I still had nearly a pound of banana rum bonbons to deliver to Floyd. The longer I held on to them, the less of them there’d be to give him.
“Derek has been on the phone with the police,” I said in answer to the questions that started coming fast and furious. “Let’s let him tell us himself.” He’d already told me part of the story, both in the hospital and on the car ride home, but I knew there was much more to the tale.
“I’d be happy to.” Derek filled us in on what he’d learned that the police had pieced together so far, which was plenty. Mom, Kim, and I were sitting up near the store entrance.
“Did Gus do it?” inquired Kim.
“Anita told me this French boy was involved.” Mom wrung her hands. “Is that true?”
Derek paced like a lawyer in front of the bench. “Jean is singing like a stool pigeon.”
“Is that a thing?”
“Do you want to hear this or not?”
“I’m listening.” I tugged at the push ring of my wheelchair. I’d also badly sprained my ankle in my skirmish with Channing, so the doctor and Derek had insisted I use a wheelchair for a day or two. By the time I got the hang of the thing, I’d be out of it.
“Do you need a hand, dear?” asked Mom rather solicitously.
“No, Mom. I’m fine, thanks.”
“Let me get you a glass of water or maybe a cup of tea.” Mom rose and headed to the store kitchen. I didn’t have the heart to dissuade her. She wanted to take care of her baby, and this was one time I was going to let her.
I was so hungry that I reached for one of the breakfast bars neatly stacked on a silver serving platter near the front door. A handmade sign said: Free Samples.
“Continue, Derek.” Kim looked refreshed and relaxed, kicking back in one of the rockers Derek had moved up to the front. Esther was fiddling around in the background.
“Bessie Hammond had returned to the McKutcheon property the day after your walk. Don’t ask me why.”
“Bessie must have got it into her head to find out what, if anything, had happened after Karl and Floyd mentioned what I’d claimed to have seen.”
“That makes sense,” Derek agreed. “Jean said that when Channing and he discovered her poking around, taking pictures, Channing insisted that he get rid of her.”
“So he did.” I shuddered at the thought of Channing so cold-bloodedly ordering Bessie’s execution and Jean so cold-bloodedly carrying out those orders.
“They deleted all the pictures she’d taken of the cemetery and house.”
“Leaving nothing but innocent shots of birds and flowers.” I’d heard about them from Chief Kennedy. “And Lana?”
“Jean and Channing overheard Lana telling Gus about her suspicions concerning JJ’s disappearance. It seemed she wasn’t above pulling a little stunt like the ruse she and Gus had planned for the town doing their widow-in-the-lake act, but she balked at being a party to murder.”
“So it was Jean who rigged Lana’s diving gear?” That made sense. He would have been on the Sunset Sally with Captain Harrow and had the perfect opportunity.
“That’s right,” said Derek. “Jean wasn’t much help leading the police to the first victim’s body. He was too distraught over his girlfriend’s death at his own hands. But Chief Kennedy borrowed some bloodhounds from a Mr. Jessup.”
“Jessup owns a dog kennel,” Mom put in. “Nice man.”
Derek continued. “The police found JJ buried in a shallow grave not a hundred yards from where Channing and Jean had disposed of the body previously.” Derek explained that Jean had been Channing’s accomplice from the beginning. He and Channing were lovers. She had known Jean for many years before meeting JJ. It seemed Jean Rabin had lived in London and the two of them met at university.
According to Jean, Channing regretted her marriage to JJ the minute she’d spoken her vows. She’d only married him on the spur of the moment because she’d had a big fight with Jean and wanted to get back at him. Channing came to the States to meet up with Jean, assumed her maiden name, and told everyone she was from Australia. But JJ, Joseph James, somehow figured out where she’d gone and he was determined to win her back.
So when she came to the Town of Ruby Lake to hook up with Jean, JJ followed. The two of them fought and JJ met his end—I hadn’t been imagining things at all. While the others were out, Jean and Channing hid the body, hoping to convince the others staying at the house that JJ had simply given up on his marriage and run off.
Jean and Channing believed Gus had his suspicions about what had happened to Channing’s ex, but he hadn’t confronted them. The deadly pair knew that if they killed him, they’d be forced to leave the house.
But Annika, for one, wasn’t buying it. Neither was Lana, as it turned out. That had to be why she’d wanted to talk to me. Funny, because I still had a hunch that murder was the end game in Gus and Lana’s plans for Moire.
Derek continued. “There’s no doubt in my mind or Chief Kennedy’s that Gus and Lana were con artists. The way Jean told it to Chief Kennedy, Gus and Lana had planned for Gus to marry Moire. Then, after an appropriate period of time, Moire would die.”
“Die?” Kim’s eyes grew wide.
Derek nodded. “Probably a quote-unquote accident of some sort.”
“Lovely,” I murmured. “So that after another suitable period of time, the two of them could get married.”
“And run Ruby’s Diner together.” Derek’s eyes drifted across the street toward the diner.
“What horrible, horrible people,” Kim said with a sigh.
“I still wonder if Moire’s taken out any new life insurance policies lately.”
“Good question,” Derek replied. “You might ask her that.”
I would. If she would even speak to me again.
Channing and Jean weren’t taking chances, so they’d decided to rig Lana’s gear. End of problem. The only problem remaining was me, and they weren’t quite sure what to do about me, short of murder, which might raise a whole lot more eyebrows than the deaths of Lana and Bessie had already raised.
Jean claimed that Channing had placed the tray on the stairs that I’d accused Esther of negligently placing there. I suppose she hoped I’d fall and break my leg or my neck. I’d either end up dead or significantly slowed down. Funny how I was now sitting here in a wheelchair.
I shivered as I remembered how innocent and friendly the young woman had seemed and how I’d invited her into my life and business. “What about Ross O’Sullivan? How is he mixed up in all this?”
“He wasn’t, according to Jean,” answered Derek. “Just another patsy. They stole Ross’s chain and planted it near the grave. That way, if anybody did start snooping around there again . . .” Derek paused and looked straight at me.
“We’d think Ross was involved,” I concluded.
“At the very least,” said Kim, “it would add to the confusion.” She giggled. “I know I’m confused.”
“Channing was a smart young woman,” I said. “She was covering all her bases.” And now she was dead.
“And Jean?” That was Kim.
“Jean Rabin is down in the county lockup,” Derek replied.
“And Gus McKutcheon?”
“Still being interviewed by the police.”
“Will he be charged?” asked Kim.
Derek could only shrug. “We’ll see. I’m confident that if the police dig deep enough, they’ll find a thing or two to charge him with. And get this,” he added. “Gus broke down and admitted that he was the father of Lana Potter’s child.”
“No surprise there,” I replied.
“I suppose not,” said Kim, crumbling under the I told you so look I beamed her way.
Maybe now Moire Leora would forgive me for interfering. Not that I hadn’t learned my lesson. I was never, ever going to interfere in anything ever, ever again. Not murder, not relationships, not woodpeckers hammering away outside my window at five in the morning.
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nbsp; My stomach called for my attention. I took a healthy bite of my breakfast bar and chewed. “Yuck-yuck!” I jumped from my wheelchair and instantly regretted the move, howling in pain.
Derek leapt forward and pushed me back into my seat. “Careful, Amy.”
I spit madly, not caring how I must look to Derek. Gooey chunks of breakfast cookie crumbled down my blouse, leaving yellow-brown stains. I wiped my shirt, which only made the spit and cookie mess all the worse. “What is in those things?!” I eyeballed the breakfast bars of death.
“Amy!”
My eyes bounced up. My mother stood in the middle of the aisle, a shocked expression on her face, a glass of water sloshing in her hand. “What were you thinking?”
“Me? You made these things.” I spat some more. I couldn’t get the horrid taste out of my mouth. Maybe a swig of kerosene would do the trick. I could roll down to the hardware store later for a pint.
“I was thinking those were for the customers.” Mom crossed the room and thrust the glass of water out at me.
I took it and swigged gratefully. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Mom.”
Mom planted her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with them?”
“They taste like . . . like . . .” I couldn’t think of a single thing to compare the horrible bars to.
“Suet?” asked Mom.
“Yes! Suet!” That was precisely what they tasted like, not that I’d ever tasted any of the stuff, but I’d smelled enough of it. Birds were fortunate to have such an underdeveloped sense of smell.
“That’s because they are suet.” Mom reached over and started picking bits of suet off my chest.
My mouth hung open. Derek and Kim were laughing, Derek loudest of all. “S-suet?”
“That’s right,” said Mom. “Suet cakes.” She ran to the side of the counter and picked up the dustpan and broom. “All natural too. Peanut butter, cornmeal, lard—”
The laughter from the peanut gallery was coming harder and stronger. I glared at Kim and Derek and they stopped. Sort of.
When Mom stared at them, they shut up completely and suddenly the two of them found something very interesting about their feet. “I thought the customers might like them.” Mom finished sweeping up and dumped the debris in the trash. “For their birds.” She thrust the dustpan and broom back in the corner.
“What’s so funny?” Cousin Riley stepped in from the back room, covered in fine black dust. I’d been barely tolerating the sounds of banging and scraping coming from the storeroom. His eyes fell on me. “Hey, welcome back, Amy!” He leaned over and gave me a big hug. “Glad to see you’re okay.”
With his shirt pressed against my nose, I caught a strong whiff of smoke. “What are you up to back there?” I refrained from snapping at him for the black smudge now transferred to my blouse, which Mom had had sent over to the hospital for me.
“A little repair work.” He smiled broadly. “Almost done. It’s going to be good as new.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What’s going to be good as new?”
Riley shot a troubled glance at Esther, who’d come hurrying over. Her lips were pressed tightly shut.
I started pushing myself toward the storeroom. “I want to see.”
“Now, now,” said Riley, putting his hands up as stop signs. “There’s nothing to see.”
“Nothing at all.” Esther jumped in front of the wheelchair.
“Move,” I insisted.
Esther frowned but stepped aside as I rolled to the back of the store. I instantly wished I hadn’t. One entire wall was scorched floor to ceiling. “What happened?” I swiveled my head so I could see Riley and Esther. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” snapped Esther. “Now get out of here and let the man finish his work.”
“Don’t worry, Amy.” Cousin Riley clapped me on the back, ignorant of the bruises I’d suffered. I winced. “It’s nothing a good coat of paint won’t fix.” Two gallons of paint, a brush, a roller, and a tarp blocked the rear door.
“Let me give you a hand,” Derek said, rolling up his shirt sleeves. “You go get some rest, Amy.” He instructed Esther to take charge of me.
Against my protests, Esther grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and rolled me back out front. “Put me in front of the window,” I said. I could sit in the sun, watch the birds.
Esther obediently rolled me past Mom and Kim, who were now double-teaming a customer, to the front window. I closed my eyes, determined not to let Esther, Riley, or little things like fire get the best of me. My eyelids suddenly felt like there were twenty-pound weights sitting on each of them. A little nap would do me a world of good...
Rat-a-tat-tat-brrr!
I lifted a heavy eyelid. Drummy was going to work. In the middle of the day, no less. Didn’t that woodpecker know it was siesta time?
I let my eye close again, determined not to let the bird get the best of me.
A sudden tickling shook me from my stupor. “What the—” Esther the Pester was looming over me. She ran the feather duster over the bridge of my nose.
I batted the feather duster away. “How did you?” I stared at the feather duster in my face. “Where did you?” I looked across the store to the tall pole with the owl nesting box atop it. The box was gone. “What happened to the owl nesting box?”
“A customer bought it.” Esther hit me in the face with the feather duster once more. “And guess what he found inside.”
I let my head sink back and closed my eyes. They say it’s the early bird that gets the worm—but this time it was the old bird who’d gotten me.
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of the next
Bird Lover’s mystery
To Kill a Hummingbird
coming soon wherever e-books are sold!
1
“A my, what are you doing up on that ladder?” asked Kim.
I jolted and the ladder’s legs wobbled precariously. “Don’t do that!” I had a hummingbird nectar feeder dangling from my index finger by the ring at the end of the metal rod attached to the round base. The rod was for hanging the feeder from a tree or hook.
Kim scratched her head. “Do what?”
“Scare me like that. I could fall.” I looked down at the ladder’s feet to make sure I was safe. “And to answer your question, what I’m doing up here is hanging a hummingbird feeder.”
“Why?” Kim’s my best friend and partner in Birds & Bees, my bird-feeding and bird-watching supply store in Ruby Lake, North Carolina. She only works in the business part-time. She’s employed as a Realtor the remainder of her working hours. Still, for all her time spent in the store, she’s far from an expert on bird feeding or bird-watching.
“To feed the hummingbirds, for one thing.”
I hung the distinctive red plastic hummingbird feeder on the steel hook my cousin Riley had attached to the porch eave. The red-topped feeders each have a clear shallow base that holds the sugar water they favor. “How does it look?”
“Okay, I guess.” Kim didn’t look impressed. She isn’t as into birds as I am.
Esther poked her head out the front window of the shop. “Her ex-professor, Mason something, is coming and Amy’s trying to impress him.”
“Thank you, Esther.” I frowned at her and climbed down. Ladders make me nervous. People sticking their faces out windows while I’m teetering at the top of one downright scare me. “And that’s Mason Livingston.” I dusted off my khaki shorts, part of the Birds & Bees uniform. That and the red tee I was wearing with our store’s name and logo embroidered on it.
Kim removed a hummingbird feeder from the cardboard box on the front porch. I saw her lips moving as she counted the rest of the feeders in the carton. “Yeah, but six hummingbird feeders?”
I laughed and pushed a curl of hair behind my ear. “I want to impress him a lot!” I grabbed the feeder from Kim’s hand. “Help me with the rest of these, would you?”
“Sure thing.” Kim grabbed a
suction-cup hanger and stuck it to the front door.
“Not the door.” I pulled it down and moved it to one of the front windows opposite the cash register inside. That way we could watch the hummingbirds come and go while ringing up sales. “The nectar will spill. Besides, the hummingbirds may not like the door opening and closing all the time.”
“Okay,” said Kim, snatching another from the box. “What about the rest of these?”
I looked around the porch. “Let’s put another on that side of the door.” I pointed to the window Esther had stuck her head through. The rest can go in the garden.”
“You must really like this guy.” Esther stepped out on the porch. She had balked at the idea of wearing shorts around the shop, but had finally agreed to wear a pair of khaki slacks and had opted for a robin’s-egg blue tee for herself.
I’d ordered her several colors of the shirts and made her promise to wear them. I was tired of seeing her around the store during business hours in her raggedy old housedresses that smelled of cigarettes and looked like a cat had been snoozing on them—both of which were forbidden in my business-slash-home.
The policy was no reflection on cats. I’m a big fan of the felines. Unfortunately, I have a strong allergic reaction to them. Esther Pilaster, aka Esther the Pester or Esther Pester, as I was wont to call her on days when she was especially pestering and I was especially short of patience, wasn’t much for following my rules about either. Not that I had caught her smoking or frolicking with a cat, but all evidence pointed to the existence of both. One of these days, I was determined to prove it.
Since my mom had unilaterally given Esther a job in my store and she was already renting an apartment here, I could only make do until her lease was up.
“Mason Livingston was one of my college professors.” I had attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill on the other side of the state. “I admire him.”
“I thought you were an English major. Not an ornithologist.” Kim hung a feeder in a small Japanese maple just inside the white picket fence that hugged the sidewalk. “This okay?”
