Die, Die Birdie

by J. R. Ripley

  “I couldn’t go waking him in the middle of the night, could I?” He lifted the lid of the peanut bin and stuck his paw inside.

  “Peanuts are three ninety-nine a pound.” I crossed my arms over my chest. A handful of peanuts fell from Jerry’s fingers.

  I was enjoying watching Jerry pout when the front door was thrown open with a jarring blast that rattled the windows and set the wind chimes, hanging from a carousel to the right of the door, ringing. The tubular sounds of Pachelbel’s Canon filled the air. “Kim!”

  I ran to the door and embraced my partner. As she’d loaned me money to help set up shop, making Kim partner seemed the right thing to do. Though neither had insisted on it, and Mom had been vociferous in her objections, I’d made her and Aunt Betty both partners in Birds & Bees, too. Minority partners, but partners nonetheless.

  Kim had even decided to turn her investment into a working partnership and I was glad she had. I was also glad she was back in Ruby Lake. Now more than ever.

  I took a step back, my hands on Kim’s shoulders. “What’s going on? You didn’t return my texts or my calls. I thought you were still in Tampa. When did you get back? How’s your mother?”

  Kimberly laughed, a tinkle that blended well with the wind chimes. Kimberly is a long-legged blonde with devilish blue eyes. She has set more than one young man’s heart afire. But so far none had been able to hold her—at least for long. Kimberly is thirty-four, like me, but likes to brag that she’s younger. Three months, big deal. I’m taller.

  She uncinched the belt of her charcoal wool jacket and pulled off her gloves. “Slow down,” she said with a laugh. “That’s too many questions, too fast and too early.”

  It was well after eight, but that was Kim. I was planning on opening the store daily at nine and staying till five. Kim would come in at noon and stay till closing.

  My partner—and longtime friend—was rocking a pair of tight blue jeans and a raspberry plaid shirt. Kim’s head swung around the room. Her little gold hoop earrings swayed like tiny bird perches. She looked pleased. “Hey, you’ve made some progress.” She nodded appreciatively. “Coffee on?”

  Chief Kennedy cleared his throat.

  “Hi ya, Jerry,” Kim said rather abruptly. I noticed he didn’t bother trying to correct her and insist she call him chief. I think Jerry’s a little afraid of her.

  “Pleased to see you, Kimberly. I hear you and Amy are partners in this little shop.”

  Had I just seen Jerry suck in his gut? Not that it was going to do him any good. There was just too much gut to contain and nowhere for it to go. If Jerry had been paying attention when Mom the high school science teacher had tried to explain physics to him, he’d have known better than to even bother trying.

  I ignored Jerry’s not-so-buried “little” jibe and headed to the coffeepot. The police chief arrived right behind me, his cup extended. I passed over his arm and filled a cup for Kim—one cream, two sugars—before topping off his mug.

  “What are you doing here, Jerry?” Kim blew across the top of her mug. “Don’t tell me you and Sandra have taken up backyard bird watching?” Sandra is Jerry’s saint of a wife.

  Chief Kennedy pulled himself upright. He’d always been a sloucher, figuratively and literally. “Haven’t you heard?”

  Kim’s eyes went from me to the police chief. “Heard what?”

  “There’s been a little accident,” I began softly.

  Chief Kennedy barked out a laugh. “A little accident,” he scoffed. “A murder is what there’s been.”

  “Murder!?” Kimberly set her coffee down on the small table between the rockers. “Who?” She grabbed my hand. “Not your mother!”

  “No, no.” I stroked her arm. “Nothing like that.”

  “Who then?” Kimberly furrowed her brow. “The Pester?”

  It was Chief Kennedy’s turn to raise brows, and he did. “The Pester?”

  “Kim means Esther Pilaster,” I explained.

  “But she said—” Jerry pointed a finger at my business partner.

  “You know how Kim is, Jer—I mean, Chief Kennedy. She gets names mixed up.” I shot a warning look at my friend. No point sharing our not-so-friendly nickname for my renter. What good could come of it? “No,” I said, turning to Kim, “not Esther.”

  “Then who?”

  I shrugged. “That’s just it. I don’t know.” Kim paled as I explained how I’d gone to fetch my order of birdhouses from Aaron Maddley and returned to find the front door unlocked and a dead man waiting for me in the upstairs storeroom.

  “You must have been horrified!” gasped Kim.

  “Worse,” I quipped.

  “Worse?” Kim looked confused. “What could be worse than finding a dead guy in your storeroom?”

  The corner of my mouth quirked up. “Being accused of murdering him.”

  5

  “I’m just afraid that what with all the bad publicity we’re bound to get that we may be better off putting off the grand opening,” I replied to Kim after Chief Kennedy had departed and we’d gotten around to discussing the future of Birds & Bees.

  Kimberly was shaking her head in a scolding fashion. “Nonsense, Amy.” She was sitting atop the sales counter and banged her fist against the butcher-block slab. “You’ve got too much riding on this. We’ve all got too much riding on this.”

  I chewed my lip a minute. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Right about what?”

  I turned. Mom stood at the bottom of the stairs. She’d suited up in her violet and charcoal color-blocked jacket and matching bottoms. I suspected she was planning a walk. That’s the only time I saw her in her L.L. Bean Pathfinders. Mom seemed to have served out her high school teaching career in Naturalizers.

  “Hi ya, Mrs. Simms.” Kim slid off the counter and gave my mother a hug.

  “How’s your mother, dear?” Mom pushed a stray lock of hair behind Kim’s ear. “Back on her feet?”

  “No, but I’m sure she’ll be line dancing in no time. The doctor says she’s healing well.”

  “That’s nice.” Mom sidled up beside me. “So?”

  I quirked a brow. “Sooo?”

  “So what is Kim right about?”

  Kim giggled. “About opening Birds and Bees.”

  Mom frowned. “I don’t understand. Were you considering not opening?”

  I explained how the thought had crossed my mind that we’d be better off delaying things until the whole murder situation was either resolved or subsided. “Hopefully, sooner rather than later.”

  “What did Jerry want?” Mom asked. “Did he come to tell you that you couldn’t open Birds and Bees?”

  “No.” I thought about everything the chief had said last night and this morning. A million questions and a lot of snide remarks, but nothing about needing to keep the doors to the business shuttered. “He was just poking around. He didn’t say anything about not opening.”

  “There you go!” Kimberly clapped her hands. “We open tomorrow!”

  “Tomorrow?” I gasped. “But we were scheduled to open Saturday.”

  Kimberly shrugged. “So we open a day or two early. What’s the big deal?”

  “What’s the big deal?” I anchored my hands on my hips. “Number one, a man was murdered upstairs. Number two, we are not ready. Number three, I paid a hundred dollars to place an ad announcing our big grand opening Saturday morning. Number—”

  “Enough with the numbers, Amy.” Kimberly stopped my rant. “Your mom and I know you can count. I say ready or not, here we come!” She turned to my mother. “Are you with me, Mrs. Simms?”

  Mom nodded. The traitor. “It’s your decision, Amy, but I agree with Kimberly.” She looked out the window. “Open the doors, let people in.” She turned back to me. “Smiling, happy shoppers. That’s what you need. It will help flush out all this negative energy.” Mom patted the top of the cash register. “And fill this thing.”

  I felt a chill run up my arms and my eyes lifted toward t
he ceiling. Negative energy was right. I couldn’t get the picture of that dead man upstairs out of my head. “Maybe you’re both right,” I said. “But take a look around. Even if we wanted to open, we’re only half-stocked.”

  I had explained to Kim how the delivery driver had shown up after the murder and how that had put yet another kink in our plans because the truck had never been unloaded.

  Kim pursed her lips. “I noticed the shelves looked a little bare.”

  “The place does look rather anemic,” Mom added. “More like we’re going out of business than starting.”

  “No problem,” Kimberly replied. “Cole’s Trucking, right?”

  I nodded.

  Kim grinned. “I saw a Cole’s Trucking semi parked outside the Ruby Lake Motor Inn.”

  “You think it’s the same truck?” Mom asked. “Cole’s is a pretty big regional company.”

  “It’s got to be the same guy,” Kim said. “I mean, what are the odds that it’s not?”

  I agreed. “I’ll call the trucking company.” I searched for the company’s number on my phone and dialed.

  “Well?” Kim asked.

  I frowned. “It’s a recording.” I held the phone up so they could hear. “I’m heading down to the motel. Kim, would you mind staying and unpacking the rest of the suet that’s out in the storeroom?”

  “Natch.” Kim pointed a finger at me. My mother agreed to lend her a hand.

  The minivan was frigid as an icebox. I cranked up the dial on the heater as I headed the mile or so down the winding Lake Shore Drive toward the historic Ruby Lake Motor Inn.

  Built in the so-called neon era, the Ruby Lake Motor Inn was an L-shaped building with the office and a small diner in the shorter line of the L. There were also several small, rustic cabins with kitchenettes behind the motel—like studio apartments for those wanting a few more home comforts or spending an extended stay.

  I parked beside the rust-pitted thirty-foot-tall steel posts that held up the giant red-ruby neon sign. A smaller amber sign braced high up between the posts proclaimed that, yes, there were vacancies.

  Kim was right. The big white semitrailer truck, with Cole’s Trucking stenciled on the trailer’s side and cab door, was parked along the west-side lot along with two other trucks, a pickup with a boat trailer, and two motorhomes, one pulling a smaller U-Haul.

  I shut off the Kia’s engine. I’d have loved to have let it idle—to preserve warmth—but it was a waste of fuel and polluting too. Not good for people, birds, or the environment. I spent a minute adjusting my hair and makeup. It never hurts to look your best when trying to get someone, especially a man, to do you a favor.

  Not that delivering goods for my store, merchandise I’d bought and paid for in advance, was so much a favor as an obligation. Still, after last night, I wouldn’t blame the guy if he refused to ever step foot in Birds & Bees again.

  I had no idea what room Dwayne was staying in. I also had no idea what his last name was. I was sure he’d mentioned it last night, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember what he’d said. I’d had a lot more important things on my mind.

  I pulled my collar tight and hiked to the office. A blast of moist, warm air greeted me—so did a thin man with a head of receding dirty brown hair, resting on a stool behind the counter.

  He settled his mug of coffee down atop the newspaper he was reading and looked up. “Good morning.” He smiled. “Can I help you? Diner’s through there”—he pointed to his left—“if you’re interested in breakfast.”

  His Southern drawl was as strong as cold molasses. I pegged him at about forty and his accent as South Carolina. “Five ninety-five, all-you-can-eat buffet for guests.” He wore a long-sleeved white dress shirt with thin gray and brown stripes and a pair of cuffed dark brown trousers. “Just show the hostess your room key.”

  “Actually”—I cleared my throat—“I’m not a guest at all.” I pushed out my hand. “I’m Amy Simms. I own Birds and Bees on upper Lake Shore Drive.” Upper Lake Shore Drive is the local, though unofficially named, part of Lake Shore Drive that diverges up from the lake and intersects with Airport Road. I had no proof, but I’m pretty sure the name Airport Road was some long-ago town official’s idea of a joke. The town of Ruby Lake has no airport. Never did. Probably never will.

  Maybe whoever had come up with the moniker had been optimistic. Overly optimistic.

  Airport Road extends into the mountains at a steep thirty-five degree incline in places. I avoid it, if at all possible. Its banks are precipitous and the town has no money for such frills as guardrails.

  Ruby Lake Motor Inn is located on what we locals consider lower Lake Shore Drive, which is also where the big marina is located.

  “Dick Feller. I’m the front desk manager.” He shook my hand and furrowed his brow. “Sorry, I’m afraid I’ve never heard of your store.” He yawned and took a sip from his steaming mug.

  I smiled. “Nobody has. I mean, that’s because we aren’t open yet.” I looked over my shoulder and out the window. “That’s sort of why I’m here.”

  “Oh?” He blinked and laced his fingers together atop the open newspaper. There was a coffee ring where his mug had lain previously. His espresso-brown eyes were a strong contrast to his pasty white skin.

  I took a moment before replying. What should I say? How much should I tell? It wasn’t like the murder was any kind of secret I’d been asked not to reveal—but did I want to tell all that to this man?

  What would he think? I might even scare him off, and then what good would he do me? I’d never find out what room Dwayne with-no-last-name was staying in. If it even was Dwayne who was driving the truck in the motor inn’s parking lot.

  An elderly gentleman in a long trench coat came through the door and dropped off his room key. The front desk manager slid off his stool and printed out the guest’s receipt and wished him a good day.

  “Can you tell me what room the guy is in who’s driving that truck?” I pointed out the window to my left. “It’s the one with Cole’s Trucking written on the side.” Dick Feller looked at me blankly. “His first name is Dwayne. I’m not sure of his last name.”

  Dick Feller pressed his hands against the counter and leaned forward. He frowned. “I suppose I could cross-check the license plate number on the computer and get a name.”

  “Great.” I rubbed my hands together.

  “But that would be against regulations.”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t.” I wriggled my brow conspiratorially.

  The front desk manager was shaking his head even as the words spilled out of my mouth. “Sorry, no can do, Ms. Simms.” Not so great. I’d run into a desk clerk who was averse to conspiring.

  “But I really need to talk to him,” I pleaded. “You see, my store is opening soon and I need the merchandise that’s on that truck.”

  Dick Feller refilled his coffee mug from a stained pot behind the desk. “If that truck does have your merch, I’m sure it will get delivered.”

  I didn’t need placating, I needed my stuff. I needed Dwayne. I was contemplating jumping over the counter and seizing Dick’s computer when the front door opened, bringing with it a burst of cold air.

  “Good morning,” said Dick, putting on his meet-the-guests grin.

  “Mornin’,” came the reply.

  I spun around. “Dwayne!”

  Dwayne didn’t look too happy to see me. In fact, he looked decidedly displeased. Was this what they called guilt by association? He’d seen me with blood on my hands and a dead man in my shop-slash-house and made up his mind that I was some sort of homicidal maniac? A homicidal maniac with a bird supply store?

  His gaze jumped from the front desk manager to me and back again. “What’s she doing here?”

  I hurried over. “Looking for you. I’m so glad you haven’t left town.”

  His face soured. “Police wouldn’t let me. Said they had some more questions.”

  “Police?” Dick Feller said worriedly
.

  “This lady murdered somebody,” explained Dwayne.

  Thanks, Dwayne. “I did not!” I cried indignantly.

  “That old lady said you did,” Dwayne shot back.

  I bit my cheek. Esther the Pester. What a loudmouth. “Look, it’s all just a big misunderstanding.” I spread my arms wide. “A really big misunderstanding.”

  “So, there is no dead body?” The front desk manager’s eyes darted from Dwayne to me.

  “Well . . .”

  “And now I’m stuck here,” Dwayne whined.

  “Maybe it would be better if you left now, Ms. Simms.” Dick motioned toward the door.

  I ignored him and focused on the trucker. “Great. I mean, it’s too bad that you got mixed up in all this and had to stay over.” I’d win Dwayne over with my charm. “But that means you can deliver my stock.” I smiled and grabbed the sleeve of his coat. I’d haul him out the door physically if I had to.

  He jerked his arm away. “Haven’t had my breakfast yet.”

  “Oh, of course. I’ll join you.”

  Dwayne shrugged and headed toward the diner. I trailed, uninvited, after him. He helped himself to the buffet and took a seat at a small two-top. While his plate was piled high, I’d settled for toast and scrambled eggs.

  He scowled as I slid into the chair across from his but perked up when I said that breakfast was on me. How much was breakfast for non-guests?

  Dwayne wasn’t much of a talker. I watched in amazed silence as he shoveled food down his gullet. Once in a while he made eye contact, then went back to grazing.

  “So,” I said, catching Dwayne between mouthfuls, “terrible about last night, isn’t it?”

  Dwayne grabbed a strip of bacon and pushed it around in a puddle of maple syrup on his yellow plate.

  “I’m Amy Simms, by the way.” The fatty bacon slid across his tongue and disappeared. “You’re Dwayne, right?”

  I was awarded with a bob of the head. “Rogers.”

  Okay, we were making progress, Dwayne Rogers. “Pleased to meet you, Dwayne Rogers.” I smiled and motioned to the waitress that our cups needed refilling.