Tom Roche settled in to my right, partly obscuring my view of Comeau—and Comeau’s view of me, thankfully. He proceeded to adjust the legs on his tripod and then fastened what looked like a telescope to the top plate.
“Is that spotting scope?” I asked.
“Isn’t it a beauty?” Tom replied. “It was a Christmas present from my wife.” He turned to me, a smile cracking his chapped lips. “Me getting out of her hair by taking a bird tour in five-degree weather was her Christmas present from me.”
“Do you think it’s as warm as five?” I asked with a laugh. “Can you take photos with a spotting scope?”
“Sure, if I mount my camera to the eyepiece.” He waved me over and invited me to look through the scope’s angled end.
The view took me into the trees across the field, and beyond them I saw what I hadn’t seen with my bare eyes: a small frozen lake. “Wow. This is spectacular.”
“We’re so close to the birds here that it’s almost too powerful,” Tom said.
“You’ll have some beautiful photos at the end of the day.” I stood straight and, feeling a little envious, relinquished control of the scope.
“Can I ask you something? Kate, right?”
I nodded.
As if emphasizing the seriousness of what he was about to say, Tom slipped off his glasses and drew closer to me. In his mid-twenties, he had a weak jaw, the kind of upturned nose that drove movie stars to plastic surgery, and light brown hair, judging by the strands that had escaped his black beanie. And he had several scars on his young face, including one that cut a groove through his left eyebrow. “What’s with that guy over there?” He indicated Comeau with a jerk of his chin.
“You tell me,” I said under my breath. “I only just met him.”
“He acts like he knows you.”
“He doesn’t. And he’s not here to birdwatch.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Just a hunch.” I looked past Tom to Comeau. Rather than gazing out toward the field and pond, Comeau was staring down at his binoculars as he turned them over in his hands. His mind was elsewhere. “A good hunch, I think.” Nadine too had her eyes on Comeau, I noticed. And Gavin and Sierra alternately whispered between themselves and shot furtive looks the man’s way. The whole scene made me uneasy.
“Well, the birds are why I’m here,” Tom said. He slipped his glasses in his coat pocket, squeezed his hands together in delighted anticipation, and attended to his spotting scope.
I let my binoculars dangle from the strap around my neck. The view was almost as good from my telephoto lens, so I explored the trees with my camera. In seconds, my mind was back on Comeau. What did he want? Did he really know about Minette? If so, how did he know? Ray Landry wouldn’t have told him, I was sure of it. His radar would’ve gone off the moment he met Comeau, just as mine had. And anyway, Ray had been protective of Minette. He hadn’t even told me about her.
No more than a few inches high. I shook my head. How old was the man? Late fifties, maybe? Almost aristocratic in his bearing, he looked like a bank president or CEO. He couldn’t believe in fairies. Though someone might have said the same about me. I was fifty, a widow, and ordinary in every way. Average height, brown hair going gray, brown eyes. Ordinary. So how could I believe in fairies?
I lowered my camera and looked to my right. Comeau was watching me. A slow smile spread across his face, and he waved, conveying both superiority and disdain with a single, smooth flip of his hand. The back of my neck began to prickle.
He mouthed my name and then headed my way, circling Tom and momentarily blocking his view through his spotting scope before stopping directly in front of me.
“Mrs. Brewer, are you enjoying yourself?” Comeau asked.
“Of course.” Then I decided to go on offense by peppering him with questions. “Where are you from, Comeau? I’ve never seen you in Smithwell.”
“Lewiston.”
“What brings you up here?”
“Birds, of course.”
“They don’t have birds or birding tours in Lewiston?”
“I wanted to explore the central part of the state.”
“Are the birds different here?”
“Some are.”
“Such as?”
He shrugged. “I’m not an expert.”
“Oh, come on. You know even less than I do, Comeau. But you don’t really care about birds. You’re here to see me.”
A flicker of alarm crossed his face. For an instant, control of the conversation had shifted to me, and he didn’t like it. I’d found a chink in his armor.
Swiftly regaining his composure, he snorted and asked, “Do you think so? And why would that be?”
“Here’s what I don’t understand. If you wanted to talk to me, you could have phoned me at home or met me in town. Why come all the way out here?”
“I told you. It’s enchanting here. Appropriate that it is, no?”
“Appropriate to what? Say what you mean, Comeau. Or if you’re not capable of that, stop talking to me. Step back, and I mean right now.”
Realizing I’d raised my voice, I looked to the other birdwatchers. Nadine was riveted by the sight of something in her camera, but the others were gaping at me, and Joel was storming our way, his eyes shooting daggers.
“Do I have to separate you two?” he asked.
Sheesh. Our bus driver was about to send me, metaphorically speaking, to the principal’s office—and on a birdwatching tour, of all things.
“Certainly not, Mr. Perry,” Comeau said.
“Then do I have to ask you to leave the tour, Mr. Comeau? You can’t seem to get along with people. This is meant to be a relaxing experience.”
“I’m quite content, Mr. Perry.”
Joel turned to the others. “Let’s go back to the bus and head to location number two.”
“Already?” Tom asked.
“On the way to location two, we can all warm up,” Joel added.
Appealing to Tom’s desire to get out of the cold did the trick, and he began to unscrew the scope from his tripod.
Joel looked back to Comeau. “And on the way, we can also calm down.”
“But of course, Mr. Perry.”
“Fall in after me, Mr. Comeau. All right?”
“Whatever you ask.”
Joel led the way back to the bus, Comeau right behind him. Intending to search for moss on the way back, and snatch a bit of it for Minette if I found some, I brought up the rear. When we made it back to our first stopping point near the lake, I stopped and studied the ground in earnest, knowing that moss preferred wet areas. And then I found it—dark green and feathery, growing between several rocks and here and there punching through a thin layer of ice. How had such a tender plant survived this bitter winter? I crouched down. There was more than enough moss to harvest a few thumbnail-sized clumps and still leave enough for the plant to recover and spread.
By the time I’d picked the best of the moss and pocketed my prize, the group had disappeared back into the woods and I had to scurry to catch up. When I returned to the bus, Joel was standing outside the door waiting for me. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Sorry about that. I was looking at some moss.”
“I’ve asked Mr. Comeau to change seats. Let me know if he bothers you again.”
“Thank you.” I climbed on the bus and found my old seat behind Nadine. Comeau was now sitting directly behind Joel—perhaps he’d mind his manners there—and Tom had moved to Comeau’s old seat across the aisle from Nadine.
Joel started the bus and left the parking area for the road out of the preserve. Except for Tom and Sierra, who chatted happily about bird photography, everyone was silent. As the bus began to warm to a tolerable level, I wondered if I’d be able to talk myself into getting off it again. The tour was a flop as far as I was concerned. Beautiful scenery, yes, but lousy weather and one freaky fellow birdwatcher. I opened my Thermos in hopes my tea was still hot, but before I
could test it with a sip, Nadine twisted around, jabbed at a small square of paper with one pointed fingernail, and then waved the paper in my face.
“What is this? Did you do this?” she said in a clipped, angry tone.
“Do what? What is it?”
“Did you write this?”
“I haven’t written anything, and stop pushing that in my face.” I snatched the paper from her hand.
“It was on my seat. On my seat!”
Joel braked hard, swung the bus to into the breakdown lane, and came to a wrenching stop. “Knock it off or the tour ends!”
But Nadine continued to shout and accuse, moving rapidly from me to Tom and then Sierra. I looked down at the note. It looked as though it had been run out on an inkjet printer and then cut down to size with scissors.
“What’s on it?” Tom asked, looking both bewildered and angry.
I held it up. “It says, ‘You will drop dead before you leave this bus.’ Looks like someone on this bus thinks this is a practical joke.”
CHAPTER 3
“Can I have that?” Joel stuck out his hand, demanding the note, and I gave it to him. He read it and immediately pronounced it a meaningless prank.
Nadine now turned her fury on him. “Of course you think it’s a joke. Money, money, money. That’s what you care about. What kind of tour is this? I’ll tell you what, Mr. Bus Driver. I’m paying good money for this tour—my money. And what do I get? I get threats on my life. Take this seriously.”
“Ma’am, you’re overreacting. We don’t how long this piece of paper has been here.”
“I know exactly how long it’s been here. It was in the middle of my seat when I got back on the bus. I had to pick it up to sit down. I was about to throw it away, but then I read it.”
“Nadine, you were the last on the bus,” Tom said. “No, that’s not right. Kate was last.”
“That’s right,” Nadine said. “Kate, I’m sorry I accused you.” She looked at me apologetically. “It couldn’t have been you because I’d already picked it up when you were getting on the bus.”
“May I point out the obvious?” Comeau said. Still seated, he flashed his lizard smile as his eyes shifted from me to Nadine. “That note might have been dropped on your seat as we left the bus for our first site, not as we got back on. Only Gavin and Sierra Dearborn got off before you, and if I’m not mistaken, Sierra moved her backpack to the rack above your seat just before she got off—and while you were busy looking down at your camera.”
“I didn’t have room over here,” Sierra said, pointing to the rack above her head.
Gavin thrust his chin out. “Because my backpack was there. Got it, Comeau?”
Comeau spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I’m not trying to assign blame. I only want to point out that the note could have been left on exit rather than entrance. And speaking of entrance, our driver was the first one back on.”
Joel threw back his head and heaved an exasperated sigh. “Eyes forward, everyone.” He walked to the front of the bus and wheeled back. “We don’t normally do this, but let’s vote. Do we head to site number two or do we return to the community center parking lot? Either way is fine with me.”
In a tiny, timid voice, Nadine said, “If you think about it, you can understand why I’d rather not stay on this bus.”
The woman was shaking. I could understand a little anger, but she was thoroughly unnerved. Unless she knew something the rest of us didn’t, her reaction was out of proportion to the threat.
“Absa-tively, Nadine,” Joel answered. “I can drive you back to your car and give you a full refund. How many prefer to go on with the tour?”
Comeau watched for my answer, but I wasn’t about to vote before he did. Whatever he chose, I’d choose the opposite.
When Gavin and Sierra said they’d like to continue the tour, Joel zeroed in on Comeau and waited for his response. After a moment, Comeau agreed to continue. “I’ll join the Dearborns. It would be a shame to stop now.”
That settled it for me. “I’d like to go back to my car,” I said.
“Seriously?” Tom asked. “Ladies, this is going to take us an hour out of our way.”
It appeared to me that Tom’s real objection was that he didn’t relish the idea of just the four of them, Comeau included, continuing with the tour, but I wasn’t going to hang around Comeau just to make Tom feel better. “Sorry, Tom. I’m cold and this tour has gotten a little strange.”
“Tell me about it,” Nadine said. “Can I have that piece of paper, Joel? It’s evidence.”
“Sure.” Joel walked back to her seat, handed her the note, and again took the wheel. “Then we’re off to the community center. Our next site is closer to the center than our first site was, so it won’t take more than thirty, thirty-five minutes round trip, Tom. No worries. We’ll be on our way soon.”
Joel pulled back onto the road, this time driving a tad too fast for the conditions. He seemed eager to dispense with Nadine, and possibly me as well.
“Half an hour out of our way,” Tom groused.
“What if you’d been threatened?” Nadine snapped. She grabbed her backpack and jammed her camera and its colorful, wide strap inside it. “You’d want to leave too. You wouldn’t sit here waiting for something bad to happen. Who messed with my backpack?”
“Nothing bad is going to happen,” Tom said.
“Who messed with it?” Nadine repeated. “Who was in my backpack?”
Gavin shot Nadine a surly look over his shoulder. “What now?”
“I have a nervous condition,” Nadine said.
His patience all but gone, Tom glared at her.
“I’m not supposed to be stressed,” Nadine said. “This was going to be restful. That’s why I’m here.”
I leaned forward and laid my hand on her seat back. “Take deep breaths and try to relax. You’ll be home in a matter of minutes.”
Nadine mumbled something unintelligible before resting her head on her window. Several times she inhaled and then forcefully exhaled, loudly enough that Sierra made a remark about childbirth and Comeau chuckled.
With Nadine calm at last, I relaxed into my seat and tried to enjoy the scenery on Route 7. I felt a little sorry for Joel, having to contend with the smarmy Comeau, the nervous Nadine, and some anonymous prankster. I knew darn well one of the birdwatchers had left that note on Nadine’s seat, though the only reason for it that I could see was that one of my fellow tourists liked to poke fun at jittery women. Nothing else made sense.
As we neared Smithwell, the bus hit what must have been a substantial pothole, jolting everyone aboard—including Nadine, whose puffy, gumdrop-shaped knit cap bounced a couple times on the window. She had finally loosened up, I supposed, which explained her relaxed posture. I peered around her seat back, but all I could see were strands of her hair and that purple cap.
I was looking forward to going home and making myself some hotter tea. First thing, I’d check on Minette, and I’d warn her not to fly close to the windows if the drapes were open. If Comeau knew me and knew about her, then he knew where I lived, and it wasn’t unthinkable that he’d sneak a look through my windows, even if I was at home.
When Joel made a left onto Route 2, the rear end of the bus climbed something at the corner—a rock?—and slid back down again. I lurched in my seat, sliding a little, and Nadine’s head pitched forward and struck the next seat up. She sank like a boneless thing, and I heard her slump to the floor of the bus.
“Joel, stop!” I called out, pulling myself to my feet. I sidestepped my way out of my row, shouting for help, then hovered over Nadine. After a moment’s hesitation, and worried that she had passed out or was in a diabetic coma or some other health crisis, I turned her right shoulder so I could see her face.
“Look at her lips,” Tom whispered.
Nadine’s lips were blue, and there was foam at one corner of her mouth. I touched her neck with my fingers, but I couldn’t feel a pulse.
Hearing Joel instruct his riders to move out of the aisle, I glanced up at him. The birdwatchers willingly parted before him, sliding back into their seats. “I just called for an ambulance,” he said. There was a shudder in his voice.
I looked down again. There was no doubt in my mind that Nadine was dead. She was lifeless, breathless.
“Please go back to your seat, Kate,” Joel said. “Did you touch her?”
“Just her shoulder. And her neck for a pulse.” I stepped back to my row and dropped to my seat. I leaned forward, my hands resting on the back of the now-empty seat in front of mine.
Joel crouched. I figured he was looking for vital signs, though without touching Nadine. But he too must have known she was gone.
“What happened?” I asked.
Joel straightened. “I don’t know. Heart attack? She was so agitated. I could hear her breathing from up there.”
“No, a heart attack doesn’t make sense.”
He looked at me. “I know it doesn’t. I just don’t know what else it would be.”
“There’s something white on two of her fingers.”
“Where?”
I pointed. “The index and middle fingers on her right hand.”
He slowly shook his head. “I don’t see . . . Oh, maybe. You have sharp eyes. It’s hard to see.”
“Don’t touch it,” I said. “ Even with your gloves.”
“I wasn’t about to.”
“She was so close to getting off the bus, and she was so afraid she wouldn’t. That threatening note . . .”
Joel looked my way but said nothing.
“Kate, let’s not get superstitious,” Sierra said. “She probably had a heart attack. It doesn’t have anything to do with that piece of paper. Was she on drugs or some kind of inhaler? Anyone know?”
Comeau laughed softly to himself. When I called him out with a stare meant to cut him to the quick, he swallowed his smile and pursed his thin, pink lips. “I only wonder if Mrs. Dearborn is trying to convince herself. Not succeeding at it, I might say—as none of us are. We all heard the threat. She read it. ‘You will drop dead before you leave this bus.’ Fascinant.”
Drop Dead Cold Page 2
