Die, Die Birdie

by J. R. Ripley

  “But what?” He zipped his jacket up to his neck. He looked like a cat toying with a mouse. The big jerk.

  I’d boxed myself into a corner. Before I could come up with something clever to say or even a halfway clever lie, the lawyer’s face turned serious and he said, “You know that Chief Kennedy considers him a suspect in the murder of Mr. Kowalski?”

  I nodded. “But he let him go.” How amusing. Was Derek actually trying to warn me about Aaron? He should have been warning me about himself instead.

  Derek nodded. “It doesn’t make him any less a suspect. I hear there’s some talk that he and his sister may have had reason to want the victim dead. So,” he said, stopping to check a text that had just come in on his cell phone—probably his wife wondering why he was late—“even if the blood on those clothes does turn out to be something as mundane as your boyfriend claims, it doesn’t prove he’s innocent.”

  “You know about that?”

  He nodded. “Chief Kennedy told me about what happened. I am your lawyer, remember?”

  Not much longer, I hoped.

  “I’ll bet your boyfriend was pretty mad at you after that.” The lawyer chuckled. “Can’t say I blame him.”

  “What did Aaron say was the reason for the blood on those clothes in the trunk?”

  “He says it was from birthing a foal. The chief’s waiting for the tests to come back.”

  I sighed. That matched what Jerry had told me. That meant he was innocent. No, Kim had seen his truck near Birds & Bees around the time of the murder. He and his sister didn’t have plenty of reasons to want him dead, but they had one. And it was a doozy.

  Aaron had been late meeting me at the farm. And his sister had no alibi, just said she was home alone. That didn’t prove her innocence either. They still had motive and opportunity.

  Or, I thought suddenly, the back of my neck bristling . . . what if Grace Maddley hadn’t miscarried? What if she had given birth to that child? What if that child had grown up to learn the truth about his or her father?

  No. I’d gone down a dead end. I smothered a sigh. Even if the child had survived, he or she would be in elementary school.

  I felt a throbbing in my temples.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded. No point telling him my whacko theories and having him scoff.

  Derek turned to the waitress who’d returned with his change. “Keep it.” She nodded and left. “Even if he has an alibi of some sort, it doesn’t mean he and his sister—” He snapped his fingers several times in quick succession. “Grace, I think?” I nodded. “Weren’t in it together.”

  I glared at him. Why couldn’t Derek Harlan be the murderer? I played with various scenarios in my mind but, sadly, none added up. Too bad, it would have made for a neat and happy ending. I could still kick myself for having had any romantic thoughts about this guy for even one second.

  He smiled suddenly. “Not that I’m saying they’re guilty.” He leaned over the table and patted my hand. “I’m just saying, be careful.” He turned to leave, then looked over his shoulder. “And have the police check out your van.”

  Once again, I promised I would. Though by now, the Kia could have been repaired and there’d be nothing left to look at. “Give my regards to your wife!” Half the people in the diner were looking at me now, but I couldn’t resist.

  “Amy?”

  “What?”

  “Amy,” the lawyer repeated.

  I was baffled and it must have showed. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my mother getting out of Aunt Betty’s husband’s car across the street.

  “That’s her name,” Derek said. “Amy.”

  My mouth fell open. Amy was his wife’s name too? Oh brother. What, so the guy had a thing for Amys?

  I waited until I’d seen Derek pull out of the lot before leaving.

  * * *

  “Mom,” I said, giving her a squeeze. “What are you doing back?” I held her at arm’s length. “I thought we agreed you’d be staying at Aunt Betty’s for the week?”

  Mom hung up her coat on the rack I’d set up near the front of the store and did a turn around the place. “I heard that the roof had been repaired. I thought I’d come home. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, of course not!” I said quickly. “I only want you to be comfortable.” The truth was that I was glad to see her. I’d had a text message earlier from Kim, announcing that she and Randy had patched things up. She’d be spending the evening with him and then returning to her own place. That meant I’d been facing having to spend a night alone in the house. Well, alone with Esther the Pester, and that would have been little consolation.

  She yawned. “Well, I’ll be a lot more comfortable in my own bed. And if you don’t mind, that’s just where I’m going.” I followed her up the stairs. “You know, Amy, I love my sister dearly, but she can be quite exhausting.”

  I felt the same way. Aunt Betty has her quirks and then some. Then again, the seven housecats, named after the seven dwarves, of course; a springer spaniel; and two house box turtles she kept as her personal menagerie, didn’t make living with her any easier. Her third husband was turning out to be a real saint.

  I got Mom to bed. I’d been meaning to install the chain across the bottom of the back stairs but was too tired to deal with it. Besides, I didn’t own any tools. I’d ask Mr. Calderon to take care of it for me tomorrow.

  27

  “Well?” I tapped my foot impatiently against the asphalt. The clouds were back and it was raining lightly. We stood on the side lot at LaChance Motors. I’d asked Jerry to look at my van like Derek suggested. “You see?” I pointed at the rear end. I was in luck; the mechanics hadn’t had a chance to work on my van yet. “I think somebody’s trying to kill me.”

  The chief squatted and peered at my wheel. “This old thing? Driving this”—he thumped the side of the van with his open hand—“I’d say you might be contemplating suicide.” He shook his head. “But why would somebody else be trying to kill you? And when would they have had the chance?”

  “That valve doohickey has been cut.” I kicked it with my toe.

  He frowned and stood back up. “Looks split to me. Your valve stem could have been leaking for a while. It’s ancient.” He spat and glanced at the mechanic who stood silently by, watching the show, listening to the exchange. “When’s the last time you checked the air in your tires?”

  “Well . . .”

  Jerry scowled. “When’s the last time you put air in your tires?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Or had the brakes checked or tightened the lug nuts?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Hell, Amy, when’s the last time you washed this thing?!” He waved his arms.

  I got in the Corolla and sped off. If Jerry Kennedy wanted to give me a speeding ticket, so be it. I was in no mood to stick around. A woman can only take so much.

  Besides, I had to open Birds & Bees in ten minutes. If I hurried, I just might make it. As I pulled onto the main road, I turned my head to look for oncoming traffic. A beige Delta 88 sat at an angle outside the office trailer. Was that Gertie Hammer’s big old car? If so, what was she doing here? Was she finally going to trade in the old rust bucket?

  As much as I wanted to know, I had no time to spare if I was going to open on time. I swerved around the corner of Elm Street where it intersects Lake Shore Drive. The Ruby Lake Motor Lodge was on my left. I chewed my lip for a moment, glanced at the time on the dashboard clock, and turned down the narrow alley behind the lodge, which led to the cabins.

  So I’d open the store a few minutes late. It wasn’t like I had customers beating down the doors to get in. I pulled the rental car between two of the small log cabins and cut the engine. I went straight to the Nickerson’s cabin and knocked.

  Sally Nickerson answered, all red eyed and puffy faced. “What do you want?” she said rather sullenly.

  “I was hoping to have a word with you and your husband.” I peered into the dark cabin.
Clothes and toys were scattered everywhere. The youngest, dressed in a diaper and a white T-shirt, was crying in a narrow yellow playpen on the floor between the two double beds. The older child lay stretched out on one bed on her stomach, watching cartoons with the sound turned down low. Empty food containers and dirty glasses were lying around, cluttering the dresser and bathroom counter. Had they been avoiding housekeeping?

  “This is not a good time. Besides,” Sally said after some hesitation, “he isn’t here.”

  “Oh?” I looked over her shoulder for signs of Ted Nickerson. Maybe he was hiding in the bathroom. The tiny cabin smelled of baby powder and stale pizza.

  “No. He’s gone out. Rock hunting.” She started to close the door once more.

  I held out my hand to stop it. “In the rain?” I looked pointedly at a pile of hiking items on the floor in front of the nightstand. These included a coil of rope, a shovel, a small ax, and a plastic bucket. “Without his gear?” Several history books lay stacked on their sides, pushed up against the lamp on the night table.

  The toddler cried and she yelled for him to be quiet. When he wouldn’t stop, she snapped at her daughter to give him his bottle. Sally Nickerson returned her attention to me. “Look, if you must know,” she whispered harshly, “Ted’s left me.” She sniffled. “He-he didn’t come home last night. Now, please leave!”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, my hand flying to my mouth. “I had no idea.”

  “Well, you do now,” she said, reasserting herself. “So get lost!” She slammed the door in my face and this time there was no stopping it. Not if I wanted to keep all my fingers intact.

  From the other side of the door, I heard a cacophony of her yelling at the crying toddler, the daughter wailing now too, and SpongeBob singing something in his high-pitched warble about catching jellyfish with his butterfly net. Ah, the sounds of domestic life.

  I remained on the cabin porch a moment, pondering my next move. Catching sight of a housekeeper pushing a cart up to the cabin next door, I raced over. “Excuse me,” I began. I pointed. “Do you know the people staying in that cabin?”

  She eyed me warily.

  “The Nickersons?”

  The housekeeper swiped her arm across the side of her face. “What about them?” She looked frazzled and smelled of cigarette smoke.

  “Have you seen the husband, Ted Nickerson, around this morning?” Maybe he hadn’t left his wife at all. Maybe it was just her way of trying to keep me from talking to them. Then again, why had Sally been crying? And she definitely had been. Those weren’t fake tears, and she’d started long before I’d arrived. Still, maybe they’d had a spat and Ted had checked into another room at the inn. That would have been the simplest, most convenient thing to do.

  The housekeeper shrugged and grabbed an upright vacuum from the end of the cart. “I’ve got rooms to clean and I haven’t got all day to do it.”

  I went to the lobby and checked with my good friend Dick Feller, the front desk manager. “Hi. Remember me? Amy Simms from Birds and Bees?”

  He frowned. I guess that meant he did. “Can I assist you?”

  “I’m looking for Ted Nickerson.” I batted my eyelashes. “Can you tell me what room he’s staying in?”

  “Sorry,” he said, “I’m afraid I can’t give out that information.” Lord, the man was annoying. Consistent, but annoying.

  * * *

  I drove back to Birds & Bees. I wasn’t more than twenty minutes late and two customers stood waiting at the door. The wind was picking up again and their coats flapped. They were clearly tourists, judging by the colorful matching See Ruby Lake Naked T-shirts underneath. Ruby Lake Naked is a local tour operation.

  “Sorry,” I said, twisting the key in the lock. The air was coming in cold off the lake. I couldn’t wait for the weather to warm. In the middle of summer, the relatively cooler breeze swooping across from the lake would provide welcome relief. Right now, it was a pain. A cold pain.

  While the tourists shopped, I set up the register and began straightening things around the sales floor. The contractor’s crew had had to move some things around in order to finish their work on the ceiling and wall along the side of the store. I pushed two shelves back into place and returned the rockers to the coffee nook. My two customers were at the register and waved for me to check them out. That’s when I noticed the missing bee suit. I didn’t have time to give it much thought. One of the workers may have moved it for some reason. I’d find it later.

  Gertie Hammer flew through the door like a barn swallow in pursuit of a moth. She unzipped her parka and stood tapping her feet impatiently while I rang up my customers. What was all the foot tapping about? Was she planning to audition for the role Ann Miller made famous, in a community production of Sugar Babies? Shave her head and she might pass for Mickey Rooney—but Ann Miller? Never. She’s too short.

  I have to admit, I took my time, knowing that she was stewing the way she was. I caught a glimpse of her Delta 88 parked illegally at the curb and hoped Chief Kennedy or one of his officers would cruise by and write her up.

  No such luck. Sure, swerve to avoid one crazed squirrel and the cops practically jump out from behind the bushes to give you a ticket. Park illegally in front of a fire hydrant and there’s not a cop in sight.

  “It’s about time,” she cackled.

  “Can I help you, Gertie?” Maybe I should suggest she might like to take up beekeeping? No, she’d probably train the hive to attack anybody who approached within fifty yards of her house. I had too much compassion for mail carriers and newspaper deliverers to inflict that kind of pain on them.

  I shot a look over her shoulder. That was definitely the car I’d spotted at LaChance Motors. I didn’t know what it meant. If anything.

  She lifted her purse onto the counter and threw down a check, and it was huge. “That’s my final offer.” She placed her index finger on the check and turned it my way.

  My eyes widened and I think I started to drool.

  “It’s good,” she barked. “It’s a cashier’s check.”

  “I’m sure it is.” My pulse had quickened. I took a deep breath. “That’s a lot of zeroes.” Love it or list it, love it or list it . . . like a mantra, the words played through my mind. What can I say? I’m addicted to that show on TV where couples have to make up their minds whether they want to keep the house they’ve renovated or move to another.

  “Are you going to take it or not?” She twisted up her lower lip.

  I held my breath for a moment. I couldn’t give up. I’d put too much work into making a go of Birds & Bees. “Or not.” I pushed the check toward Gertie.

  “What?!” Her voice rose and cracked with indignity. “Are you crazy?”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  Her hand hovered over the cashier’s check. A woman could fulfill a lot of dreams with that check. “Last chance . . .”

  “Goodbye, Gertie.”

  She snarled, crumpled the check up in her hand, and stuffed it back in her huge purse. “You’ll be sorry!” she shouted and stormed out.

  Mom came down with a fresh batch of chocolate brownies for the customers and helped out for a little while. I told her about Gertie’s little visit. And very large check.

  Mom whistled. “Are you sure that’s the right decision, Amy? You could really start a new life with money like that.”

  “I have started a new life, Mom.” I spread my arms. “And it’s here. With you.” She smiled and I kissed her cheek.

  Mom worried her hands. “I had a call from Ben Harlan. He said he’d be back in town today.”

  “Can we not talk about the Harlans, Mom?”

  She gave me a funny look. “Why ever not?”

  I didn’t want to share my suspicions with her—no point giving her even more worries—so I merely said, “I’d like to stick to thinking happy thoughts today.”

  Mom agreed. “I’m going to walk down to the market. We’re out of eggs.�
� She stopped, one arm in her knee-length coat. “Where’s Mr. Calderon?”

  I explained that he’d had an emergency and he and the crew were on another job. “He expects to be in this afternoon though.” I raised a finger. “Grab some chicken. I’ll make my enchiladas tonight.”

  * * *

  At noon, Randy Vincent dropped Kim off for work. “I’m glad to see you two worked things out,” I remarked as she hung her coat and settled in.

  Kim nodded appreciatively at Cash Calderon’s handiwork. “Looking good.” I agreed, though there was still a slight whiff of paint in the air.

  I cornered Kim in the alcove. “So, do you want to tell me about it?”

  Kim smiled and added some sugar and cream to her coffee. “There’s not much to tell.” She tossed her head. “We kissed and made up.” She blew across her mug and batted her lashes. “He’s still pretty mad at you though.”

  “Me?” My right hand flew to my heart. “What did I do?”

  Kim pulled a face.

  “Wait.” I held my hand up like a stop sign. “Did you pin your breaking up with him on me? Because of what you quote-unquote thought my eyes were telling you?”

  Kim nodded. “So you can see why he’s upset.”

  “He’s upset? I’m upset!”

  Kim scanned the counter. “No cookies?” I shook my head. She scrounged in the cupboards. “No treats?” When I said no again—apparently, the brownies had been a big hit—she plopped herself down in one of the rockers, somehow without managing to spill a drop of coffee. Neat trick. I’d have been wearing most of mine if I’d tried the same stunt.

  Kim patted the empty chair beside her. “Did Jerry ever catch the guy”—she jiggled her eyebrows—“or spook who was wandering around upstairs?”

  “No.” I settled into the chair and started rocking. “But let me tell you what else has been going on.” I filled Kim in on the possible attempt to sabotage my van.

  “Huh.” Kim rested her empty mug on her knee.

  “Huh, what?”

  I saw Derek bending over looking at your tire the other day.”