Never Murder a Birder

by Edie Claire

  There was no logical reason. Ergo, nothing had happened.

  Leigh heaved out a long, unsatisfying sigh and headed for the bathroom. She would splash some water on her face, get a grip, and then go find Bev. Leigh had been invited to a “Ladies’ Tea” at the RV resort this afternoon, and although her original reply had been noncommittal, now she figured she and her blistered feet deserved some carbs. Particularly since she had forgotten lunch.

  She freshened up, then looked in the mirror without enthusiasm. She was not in the habit of wearing a lot of makeup on vacation, or anywhere else for that matter. But since the rain had removed most of her morning mascara, she decided a quick touch-up was justified. She reached for the cosmetic bag on the counter, blindly dug her fingers inside it, then watched in the mirror as her pupils dilated. What the—?

  She looked at the square piece of plastic in her hands. It was smoky gray eye shadow. Her eye shadow. And yes, she supposed she had packed it… sometime before the twins were born. She only carried it around in the travel case because she’d never bothered to throw it away. It didn’t bother her because she never saw it. It was buried too deeply.

  Leigh’s pulse raced as she stuffed the eye shadow back down in the bag and pulled out the mascara she’d been expecting to find. Items may shift in flight. Sure, that was it. Why not?

  She applied the mascara hastily, stabbed herself in the cornea with the wand, waited five minutes for her eye to stop watering, then reapplied. Finally, in utter disgust with herself, she locked the door of the hotel room and hurried down the creaky steps and across the parking lot.

  Her feet were killing her. Luckily, the RV Resort was only steps away, and Bev was easy to spot through the open windows of the small, modular building that served as a community center. The resort’s activity director was buzzing about singing to herself as she arranged tables and chairs for the tea. Leigh knocked on the door as she opened it.

  “Oh, come in! Come in!” Bev said happily. “I didn’t think you were going to make it!”

  Leigh gave the short version of her day, minus the more disturbing stuff.

  “Oh, pull up a chair and have a seat then,” Bev replied, referencing the blisters Leigh had limped in on. “I’ve got some salve I can loan you later. Works wonders, believe me.” She offered some early refreshments, but Leigh declined. She felt guilty enough not offering to help with the hostess duties, but she truly was desperate to sit down.

  Bev took a step closer, then peered at her with concern. “Did something happen to your eye?”

  Leigh squirmed with embarrassment, then explained.

  Bev chuckled. “I’ve done that. Sorry, honey.”

  Leigh returned the understanding smile, even as a new wave of coldness crept over her. She had put on mascara this morning, had she not? And yesterday. She had to have left it on top of the case afterwards.

  “Something wrong?” Bev asked. “You look like something’s bothering you.”

  Leigh gave up. “I could be wrong. But when I went back to my room just now, I got the distinct feeling that someone had gone through my stuff. Nothing was taken” — she added quickly, in response to Bev’s sharp intake of breath — “which makes it all the more unbelievable. I keep trying to talk myself out of believing it. But… I just can’t.”

  Bev stepped up beside her. A folding chair squeaked on the concrete floor as she pulled it out and sat down. “You mean that your things were… what, moved around?”

  Leigh nodded.

  “And you’re sure nothing was taken?”

  “Positive.” Leigh explained about the cash and the valuables. “I know you probably trust your staff. So this is awkward. But I don’t see how it could all be coincidence.”

  Bev’s apple cheeks had colored to an angry red. “I trust Rosina, our head housekeeper, implicitly. I promise you this isn’t about her. Although there’s a tiny chance that her newest hire could have been up to some funny business…” She considered a moment, her brow creased deeply in thought. “No. I’m sure that’s not it.”

  Bev’s cheeks turned an even darker red, and Leigh sat up in alarm. “What, then?”

  A low growl erupted from Bev’s thick throat.

  “Sharonna.”

  Chapter 6

  “Sharonna?” Leigh repeated.

  Bev blew out a breath of consternation. “That sneaky little she-devil! It had to be her.”

  “But… why?” Leigh asked, her voice squeaking. She already had an unwelcome random association with one murder suspect. Wasn’t having the privacy of her room violated bad enough without having the perpetrator be another Finney sibling?

  “Oh, Lord only knows why,” Bev said dismissively. “There’s no point in asking ‘why’ where that woman’s concerned. For all I know she’s closet bi and thinks you’re cute!”

  When Leigh didn’t respond, Bev turned to look at her. She smiled thinly. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to distress you. It’s like this. You hadn’t been out the door five minutes this morning before Sharonna pops into the office all bubbly like, acting as if she and I are the best of friends. She’s complimenting my hair and my shoes, when every other time I see her she’s screaming that her washcloth’s folded backwards or the soap’s the wrong color. So right away I know something’s up. Then sure enough, she starts in asking questions about you.”

  “About me?” Leigh breathed.

  Bev nodded. “She’d seen you coming out of the lobby, and she said she thought she knew you. She was sure you’d met before, but she couldn’t place you. She wanted to know if you were staying at the hotel, when you got in, where you were going…”

  Leigh felt as though her blood had frozen. “She… You—”

  Bev waved a hand. “Don’t you worry about that. Hap and I take our guests’ privacy seriously, no matter who’s asking. I told her I didn’t know you from a gnat’s behind and that you’d just wandered in looking for a bathroom.”

  Leigh exhaled with relief. But the feeling was short-lived.

  “But now I’m thinking she already knew better,” Bev continued. “Maybe she saw you come out of your room earlier. Maybe she went back into the office after I clocked out and started hassling Manny.”

  “Manny?” Leigh repeated, her spirits ebbing back to another low point.

  Bev gave a sharp nod, her expression deep in thought. “He does afternoon and evening shifts. He’s no fool; she couldn’t get into the database on his watch, no matter what she said. He’s got his own password and he knows better than to give out personal information. He might tell her you were a relative of Hap’s if he knew that, but I’m not sure he does.” Her blue eyes turned to Leigh with sympathy. “But one thing I suspect Sharonna could do is wrangle the key out of him. She could tell him she wanted to get up into the cupola — she does go up there to sketch sometimes, and if he gave her the master set, she could open your door, too. Or she could distract him away from the desk and just take the keys. She knows where they’re kept. She does own a partial stake in the hotel, after all.”

  Bev scratched her chin for a moment, then slapped her hand on her thigh with a curse. “That’s it. I’ll bet you anything. She knew what room you were staying in, and she got the key and let herself in!”

  “But…” Leigh resisted. “My makeup? My coat? My freakin’ underwear? What could Sharonna possibly hope to accomplish by fingering through all that? Even if she thought she knew me? It makes no sense!”

  Bev gave an open-handed shrug. “Honey, nothing that woman does ever makes any sense. She’s a beautiful thing, or at least she used to be, before she got that world-weary ‘used up’ look about her. From what I understand, she was an adorable baby and an absolutely enchanting little girl. Her mother doted on her and her daddy worshipped the ground she walked on. Spoiled rotten, as you can guess. The younger sister doesn’t look a thing like her; Janelle is what you’d call ‘plain’ and she was sickly as a child, and I hear the parents have always favored Sharonna pretty shamelessly. List
ening to Cort talk, I don’t doubt it. It was always Sharonna this and Sharonna that, but he hardly ever mentioned poor Janelle. And she’s the one who’s always worked in the business. Sharonna just flits around wasting her parents’ money.”

  Leigh was trying hard to stay calm and think clearly. If Bruce knew Leigh’s supposed mystery double, then was it such a stretch that his sister Sharonna would recognize the same face? Of course not. The two were close in age; at some point they must have gone to the same high school. They probably still traveled in some of the same circles. Bruce worked at the family’s corporate offices in town; surely Sharonna had to visit there at least occasionally.

  Leigh’s mystery double was tied to both of them, somehow. Which put Leigh on the radar of two potential murderers.

  Awesome.

  “Bev,” Leigh asked in as solid a voice as she could manage. “Do you think I should worry about Sharonna?”

  Beverly’s mouth twitched. “I doubt she’s up to anything besides garden-variety nosiness. She’s the type that bores easily and invents her own drama to amuse herself. But just the same, we should move you to a room in the back where you won’t run into her again. We’ll watch for her car to leave and then I’ll help you move your stuff. I suppose you want to give the police a call?”

  Leigh’s blood ran cold all over again. “Um… that won’t be necessary.”

  “Now, don’t be pulling punches just because we’re family, Hap and I,” Bev said determinedly. “If you feel the need, why, you go right ahead and call.”

  Leigh hesitated. Trying to convince some local police officer that her inappropriately slotted cosmetics, refolded underwear, and experience of having random local people stare at her were not paranoid delusions held about as much appeal as running herself through with a flounder gig.

  “I mean it,” Bev insisted. “You have every right to complain. Sharonna’s been allowed to get away with entirely too much bad behavior already, if you ask me. The only thing is…” Her expression became troubled.

  “What?” Leigh asked.

  Bev let out a scornful sniff. “I do worry that it wouldn’t do you any good. Not here in Port Mesten, anyway. You see, our Chief of Police, Del Mayfield — he isn’t a bad guy, but he’s a good friend of Bruce Finney.”

  Leigh’s mind flashed back to the scene in the coffee shop this morning. Of course he is.

  “Not that there’s any love lost between Bruce and Sharonna, mind you,” Bev explained. “Shoot, Del and Sharonna have had a few go-rounds themselves, from what I understand. But if you’re looking for impartiality when it comes to the Finneys, let’s just say Port Mesten’s finest is probably not the best place to go looking for it.”

  “Got it,” Leigh answered, feeling oddly relieved. No crisis short of facing the barrel of a revolver would make her subject herself to the official company of any town’s finest, but Bev didn’t need to know that. All that was needed here, surely, were a few simple precautions. And maybe a little background research.

  “Don’t let me keep you from getting ready for the tea,” Leigh said, forcing herself to her feet. “Surely there’s some way I can help you without having to walk. Can I fill a coffee pot or something?”

  Three minutes later she was at work in the small kitchen, stacking cups and dishes on a cart. “Tell me,” she asked with as casual a tone as she could muster. “What do you know about the other two Finney kids?”

  Bev finished loading a mixture of biscotti and lemon bars onto a platter, then licked a spot of yellow goo off her finger. Her brow puckered with thought. “I’ve only seen the younger girl once that I can remember, and that was at her daddy’s funeral. She’s a mousy little thing, for sure. Fair and pale; I’ve heard she’s had troubles with bulimia. But nobody around here really knows her. She lives in Corpus Christi; if she ever came down to visit her parents, she wasn’t out and about. All I ever remember Cortland saying about Janelle was that he was afraid she’d never get married because she spent all her time in front of a computer.”

  Bev’s expression soured. “Cort was a sexist old fart, pardon my French,” she grumbled as she washed her hands and dried them on her smock. “He valued looks and spirit in a woman. Didn’t see much to be proud of in a plain, quiet daughter, never mind that Janelle was the only one who actually seemed to want to work with him in the business.” She took the cart from Leigh and began to roll it out into the dining area. Leigh hobbled to the counter that separated the rooms and leaned over it to continue listening.

  “Some people say she’s the brightest of the bunch, but sadly that doesn’t mean much. I’ve heard more than one old-timer around here say that you could add up the IQs of all four of those kids and still not equal their parents.” Bev shook her head sadly. “Just lousy rolls of the dice, I guess.”

  “What about the younger son?” Leigh asked. Through the windows she could see two women walking toward them on the path, and she suspected they were headed to tea. Her time was limited.

  Bev, seeing the women also, finished setting up the serving table as she talked. “Oh… Russell.” She shook her head with disapproval. “Cort always talked about him like he was a teenager still sowing his wild oats, never mind that he was pushing forty when Cort died. Never worked, never married, never even had a permanent residence of his own, as far as I know. Just took advantage of dear old dad and whatever friends would have him. He’s not worth talking about.” She tossed a hand in dismissal, then crossed to hold open the door. “Hey there, Brenda, Joyce! How are you two doing? You and Wayne all ready for that cruise, Joyce?”

  Leigh tried to put her anxiety out of her head long enough to indulge in a little social frivolity sweetened with carbohydrate, but the first guest at the Mesten Grande ladies’ tea turned out to be even more uptight than she was.

  “I don’t know,” the heavily accessorized, leathery-skinned Joyce said miserably. “We may have to cancel. Wayne’s hip has been bothering him.”

  “Oh, it has not!” her more casually dressed friend Brenda argued. “He told me himself he was fine! You’re just making excuses.”

  Bev guided the women to the serving table. “Now Joyce, you’re not still worried about your motorhome, are you? Why, it’ll be as safe here as in your own driveway. Probably safer, because all the neighbors will be keeping an eye out, plus we’ve got the cameras—”

  “That’s not what’s bothering her,” Brenda interrupted, stacking three lemon bars on a plate. “It’s her cat she’s worried about. She doesn’t want to leave it, and the cruise ship says no cats, no exceptions, even with that therapy-cat certificate she bought online.”

  Joyce immediately turned teary. “She just gets so lonely, poor thing!”

  As Bev simultaneously poured drinks, offered to visit Joyce’s cat daily herself, and welcomed three more guests, Leigh’s mind trained back on her own troubles. If Bruce and Sharonna had been the only people in Port Mesten to mistake her for her mysterious double, it might follow that the double was associated only with the family business. But that wasn’t the case. Mr. Handsome at the beach had recognized her, too. So there must be a local connection, even if this mystery woman wasn’t known to Hap, Beverly, the museum docent, the chief of police, or anyone else Leigh had randomly run into thus far. Perhaps someone whose time on the island was in the past?

  Leigh stepped back from the counter and pulled out her phone. She had typed in three words when mother-guilt hit her like a bag of wet sand. You terrible, horrible parent!

  She put her phone back down. But her analytical side had its own opinion on the issue. Will you knock that off? What possible risk is this posing from fifteen hundred miles away? Besides, you know it would make her day!

  Leigh started typing again.

  By any chance, can you get access to old high school class photographs online?

  She hit the send button before she could change her mind.

  Her daughter Allison, just home from school, texted back immediately.

  De
pends. What do you need?

  Leigh typed back quickly. Everything would be fine. The mother-guilt thing was an emotional overreaction.

  Port Mesten, Texas. Late 80s or early 90s, not sure. Looking for anybody named Finney.

  “Leigh,” Bev called from the dining room, “where’d you get to? Hobble on in here and meet the folks!”

  Leigh silenced her phone, repocketed it, and obeyed. Despite her angst, she was starving, and the lemon bars smelled fabulous.

  “Hey there,” a perky voice greeted her, and she recognized Sue the birdwatcher from the pavilion. Bonnie sat in a chair beside her.

  “Well, hello,” Leigh greeted. “Did you find that… whatever it was?”

  “Curve-billed thrasher!” Bonnie boomed with triumph, even as she scowled. “About damn time, too, even if it did cost me a broken ankle.”

  “You barely twisted it,” Sue remarked matter-of-factly. She turned back to Leigh. “So you’re staying here in the Grande, too? Are you with a better half?”

  Leigh was able to make small talk without touching on any uncomfortable subjects, but she could not stop willing the phone in her pocket to vibrate. A good twenty minutes had passed before she remembered that she had turned that function off earlier when her battery ran low. She grew twitchy with impatience waiting for an appropriate break in the conversation during which she could pull her phone out and check it, but Joyce was now openly distraught. The cat lover seemed certain that her Snowbell would expire from grief if left alone overnight, and Leigh couldn’t excuse herself without seeming rude. Luckily, when two different women offered to cat-sit Snowbell in their own RVs at the exact moment some exciting bird decided to perch on the satellite dish next door, Leigh was offered the distraction she needed.