by Edie Claire
The crowd cheered, even though a few of their faces, like Leigh’s own, bore looks of confusion.
“How can we do that?” someone shouted.
“By doing what we do best!” Bev shouted back. “Watching!”
The room broke out in dozens of separate conversations, and Bev had to literally jump up and down to regain everyone’s attention. “We are in the perfect position to be the eyes and ears of law enforcement!” she explained. “If anyone can spot fishy things going on around Port Mesten, it’s us! Stanley was alone, but together we are an army of witnesses! We are everywhere! We can see a whole lot more than anyone realizes we can. We can be in constant communication with each other and with the police. And we might as well be invisible, for all the attention anyone pays us! We, my fellow birders, are like a neighborhood watch on steroids!”
“Hear, hear!”
“She’s right!”
“Of course we can!”
“Let’s do it!”
“Vengeance!”
Bev was unable to hush the room this time. Chaos continued until Bonnie stood up, put her fingers in her mouth, and made an ear-splitting whistle that nearly rattled the windowpanes.
“Thank you,” Bev said, wincing a little. “Now, anyone who’s on board with fighting back, you just sit tight right here and we’re going to talk about what we can all do together to make this town safe again. Anybody who’s not comfortable with the idea of being in a neighborhood watch type of group, that’s fine. But don’t go blabbing about the project to anyone outside this room, because we need to stay inconspicuous. And please go ahead and leave now, because it’s hot as bloody hades in here.”
More grumbling resounded, and perhaps a half-dozen people made their way out the door. But their absence was scarcely noticeable. “Now that we’re committed,” Bev continued, “here’s a little primer on how watch groups work, and how to stay safe. Could everybody by a window pull their blinds down for me?”
Hap flipped off the lights and turned on a projector. Since it was already dark outside, Leigh figured Bev’s goal was to shield their activity from prying eyes. She tried not to think of the heat that the machine was adding to the room as Hap played a training video describing the do’s and don’ts of crime watch groups. Leigh attempted to crack open the window nearest her about five minutes in, but she was halted immediately by a vigilant Sue. By the time the video was finished, both Leigh and Warren were dripping with sweat.
“Now, here’s the thing,” Bev began soberly. Her face was in shadow now, lit only by the blank screen of the projector. “We’re going to operate a little differently from your average neighborhood watch. In a neighborhood, you want the criminals to know you’re watching, because that helps to deter crime. What we want right now is to solve one. We want to help the police figure out what’s going on in Port Mesten, and we want Stanley Hutchins’ murderer rotting in jail.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“I’m in!”
“Once that’s accomplished, then we can make it crystal clear to everybody else out there that messing with one of us is not to be tolerated… that no birder is ever alone!”
“Amen!”
“You said it!”
“Let’s do it!”
Another round of cheers went up, but Bev patiently shushed the crowd again. “So to begin with, we have to be discreet. No one can know what we’re doing. As far as the general public is concerned, we’re just watching the birds. Got it?” There was a general rumble of assent. “We will be reporting any suspicious criminal activity to the police, of course,” Bev clarified. “But that doesn’t mean they need to know about our little group… per se. When you report, you’ll report simply as concerned citizens.”
Warren’s eyes slid over to look at Leigh. She could tell he was getting uncomfortable. And not because he’d lost five percent of his body weight to dehydration.
“Why can’t we work with the police?” someone asked.
“We are working with the police,” Bev insisted. “As individuals dutifully reporting anything and everything you see that could possibly shed light on Stanley’s murder. But we’re going to ask you to watch for something else, too, and that something is… well…” She turned toward Hap and made a gesture.
He rose stiffly from his chair by the projector and came to stand beside her. “Hey, y’all. Hap Taylor, here. What my wife is trying to say is, well…” He looked uncomfortable, but forged on. “You see, if you take the tourists out, Port Mesten is a mighty small town. So small that the permanent residents almost all know each other, and that includes the police. Now, I’m not saying that anyone on the police force is guilty of anything. But I do think it’s harder to be impartial as a lawman when you’re dealing with people you’ve known since kindergarten.”
“You think Stanley was murdered by a local?” a woman called out.
“I have no idea,” Hap said miserably. He was perspiring so heavily that rivulets of sweat ran down his temples. “But there’s a second situation going on right now with one of our own that I believe this group can shed some light on. Maybe it’s related to Stanley’s death and maybe it’s not, but we need to find an answer either way.” To Leigh’s horror, he extended a hand in her direction and looked right at her. “Leigh, honey, you want to come on up here?”
No, Hap. No, I definitely do not.
Warren gave her a not-so-gentle shove. Leigh glared at him, then dragged her feet to where Hap was standing. Her cousin smiled and put a moist arm around her as his wife took a seat. “This here’s a dear friend of mine and Bev’s. Her name is Leigh. As some of you already know, she happened to be with Walter when he came across Stanley’s body this morning. But mighty strange things have been happening to her even before that. She’s never been in Port Mesten before this week, but ever since she got here, four local people have been following her around and snooping through her stuff. Now, none of us have the faintest idea why. But the fact is, all four of those people have the last name of Finney, and they’re all connected to the businessman whose body washed up on the beach Sunday afternoon.”
The room began to buzz with muttering, and Leigh wished she could disappear. The goal was not implausible; such heat could surely reduce her to a puddle eventually.
“Now remember, we’re not accusing anybody of anything, and we can’t say that the weird things happening to Leigh have anything to do with the businessman’s murder, much less Stanley’s,” Hap continued. “But we can’t say they don’t, either.”
“You got that right!”
“Sounds fishy to me!”
“That’s why this group has two jobs. The first part is a general watch for any suspicious activity, like it showed in the video. But the second part is even more important — and you understand it’s top secret. We need to keep a special lookout for those four people. We want to know if they’re in Port Mesten, and if they are, where they’re going, and what they’re doing. Just what’s plainly visible from public property, mind you — that’s all we need. Nobody should approach them. We don’t want them to suspect we’re watching them. But if any of them try anything funny again where Leigh’s concerned, we’re going to make damn sure the police hear about it.”
“You bet!”
“What four people?”
Hap returned to the projector. Leigh stood in an agony of embarrassment as he flipped through pictures of all four Finney sibs, along with descriptions of three of their cars with pictures of similar makes and models. After stressing for the third time that none of the four had necessarily done anything wrong and that all that was being asked of the birders was to make note of the Finneys’ public movements and report back to HQ, he returned to his seat and allowed Leigh to do the same.
“He got that together fast,” Warren whispered with admiration.
Leigh made no response. Her face was so flushed with both heat and embarrassment that she doubted her muscles would move.
“All right,” Bev announced,
standing again. Her normally pale face was also red as a tomato and her arms were shiny in the reflected light. “We’re going to adjourn this meeting tonight because otherwise I’m going to need an ambulance. But as you leave, sign up on one of the clipboards. Those of you with cell phones, start keeping them with you, because that’s how we’ll communicate. If you don’t have one or you don’t text, stick with a buddy who does. After tonight, if you run into somebody and you don’t know if they’re in the group, you’ll use our code phrase: “How about those ivory bills?” The secret response is, “Never say never!” Unless you hear that, you don’t say word one about ‘the project.’ Got it?”
“Got it!” multiple people shouted as the whole room applauded again. Leigh had to admire Bev’s ability to work a room, even under physical duress.
“Good!” Bev returned. “Then open those windows and prop those doors and let’s get the hell out of this sweatbox!”
Leigh did not need to be told twice. She and Warren skipped the clipboard signup and moved to Bev and Hap’s patio. “How much of that did you know about?” Warren asked as he fanned his shirt and gasped for air. He had buried himself in paperwork as soon as Hap left their motorhome earlier, determined to finish his paid work that so he could concentrate on Leigh’s problems the rest of the night.
“None of it,” Leigh admitted. “Hap and Bev must have put their heads together and come up with the whole idea in a matter of hours.”
Warren shook his head, sending drops of sweat flying. “Impressive. I’m a little concerned with Hap’s distrust of the local police, but I assume he has his reasons. As for the Finney sibs, I have to say, it’s an inspired idea. I’ll feel a lot better leaving for work again tomorrow knowing that an entire roomful of people with binoculars are keeping an eye on you.”
“On me?” Leigh said with surprise. “Not on me. Just on the Finneys.”
A wicked smirk spread across his face. “Oh, you think?”
Chapter 14
The turkey vulture flapped her wings once, then caught the updraft and poised herself for a good long soar. She was hungry this morning. At least her feathers were dry, and the weather was warm. She teetered on the thermal, craning her ruddy, featherless neck to survey the ground below. As she drifted along the northwest edge of Mustang Island, her eyes were drawn to the stark parallel lines of the road running along the shore, but her vision registered nothing of interest. The scents that filtered through her brain as she glided with the wind were rich and varied, but equally unexciting.
The vulture kept moving, giving her ragged gray wings a flap only as often as strictly necessary. Whenever she located another warm current, she would ride it up high, then soar out to forage again. Her gaze alternated between scanning for carrion below and watching the surrounding skies for signals of good fortune. So far, none of her kind appeared to be having any better luck than she was.
She flapped, rose, and soared again.
The wind was still devoid of any intriguing aroma when her eye at last caught what she was looking for. Her head turned for further study, and the sight exhilarated her to the core.
The vulture changed direction. She could expend more effort now; its use was warranted. The brethren were gathering, and they were calling. Food had been found. From the looks of the group, quite a lot of it.
She could hardly wait.
The vulture caught what thermals she could and flapped the rest of the way. Catching up with her mates, she immediately joined in their dance — a restless swirl of anticipation high above the ground. Ah, yes… she could smell the carrion now. An unusual aroma… but reasonably fresh. A day old maybe. No more than two. She could see it now also. It was quite large, and none of the brethren had descended yet. If the first vulture on the scene had spotted a single serving, he would promptly have dispatched with it. But when one of the brethren spied an entire banquet table, it was customary to wait until sufficient guests had arrived to fill the seats.
The turkey vulture was hungry. She circled restlessly as two, four, and finally seven more birds joined the flock. Not all her kind, but other, testier ones, too. Then at last, the cue came. One of the vultures descended. He landed on the ground next to the carrion, and she and the rest of the group followed.
They were quickly stymied. The object of their attentions was not as accessible as it had appeared. The vulture hovered a second, trying to find someplace to alight that was dry and still close enough to the food, but all such real estate had been claimed already. She sloshed down in a sticky place and studied her options. The carrion was floating in water. A few birds tried to land on top of it, but then the whole carcass bobbed and shifted, pulling it away from those who’d been close enough to pick at it from the bank. They squawked in resentment. Poor access always heated up tempers. The aroma was so intoxicating…
The carcass drifted randomly. When it neared the bank again, it came closer to where the vulture waited, and this time she went for it. Another bird attempted to claim the same spot, but with a ferocious hiss she lifted her wings into a menacing posture and struck out at him with her beak until he backed off.
She was bigger than he was.
And she was hungry.
Chapter 15
“Leigh? Leigh, wake up. We need to talk.”
Leigh didn’t know where she really was or what was going on, but she knew she did not want to wake up. In her dream she was lying in a fluffy bed that was actually a boat, and it was skimming out over the blue waters of the Gulf with happy dolphins leaping out of the water ahead of it. Mao Tse was purring on top of her. A cappuccino maker was set up on one side of the bed and a tray of Bev’s cinnamon rolls and muffins sat on the other. She was good.
“Leigh, I know you can hear me. Wake. Up. I have to leave soon.”
Warren appeared suddenly on the bow of the boat, frowning down at her, and Leigh made the mistake of opening her eyes.
Crap. She’d woken up. But at least he wasn’t actually frowning at her.
“Sorry,” he said more gently as he buttoned his shirt cuffs. “I know you didn’t much sleep last night. Neither did I. But we need to talk before I leave. Then you can sleep all day if you want.”
Leigh forced herself to a sitting position, rolling the pliant Snowbell off her chest and down into her lap as she did so. “No, I can’t. I volunteered for a patrol with Sue and Bonnie.” She yawned, then shook her head to clear it. Now she remembered. After attending the clandestine meeting of the birders, she and Warren had returned to their motorhome to go over Allison’s “dossier” on the Finney family. Warren had been in the process of digging further into Finney Enterprises’ financials when Leigh had fallen asleep.
“What did you find out?” she asked, alert now.
Warren threw her a sober look. “I can only tell so much by looking at the data that’s publicly available. But my hunch is that the birders of Port Mesten aren’t the only people keeping a close eye on the Finney sibs right now.”
Leigh tensed. “You think they’re doing something illegal? With the business?”
“Finney Enterprises’ stock is up,” Warren said as he finished dressing. “Way up. It tumbled when Cortland died, which isn’t surprising, then it started a slow rebound, which might also be expected. But then the company started reported some pretty impressive numbers, and the stock went on a significant upswing. It’s been climbing steadily ever since. You might see a pattern like that if there was a good reason behind it, like a promising new product or acquisition, or a shakeup in management. But not this shakeup. Not with everything Hap’s told us, all of which was borne out by what Allison found.”
Leigh nodded in understanding. The bios Allison had cobbled together held many interesting factoids about the sibs, both relevant and irrelevant. But there was no evidence of any hidden corporate or financial prowess. In fact, a close study of Janelle’s CV suggested that rather than giving his daughter a leg up, Cortland had probably been pinning his daughter beneath his boot. Sh
e had worked for the company for sixteen years at the time of his death, and in all those years — despite variously worded job titles — her duties had never seemed to progress beyond basic accounting.
The vaunted eldest son did no better. Despite seeming to have his father’s blessing as successor, Bruce Finney had failed out of two private colleges before eventually getting his business degree — at the age of twenty-seven — from the local state university. His bona fides with the company were so slim that prior to his taking over as President and CEO, he had no online business profile of any kind and not a single career accomplishment credited to his name. In other words, his contribution to the family business had probably consisted of an empty office with his name on the door.
“Well, if the kids didn’t mastermind an improvement in the business, then what did?” Leigh asked. “Did Bruce hire new people?”
Warren shook his head. “Almost all of Cort’s vice-presidents left at some point during the transition, and Bruce didn’t replace any of them. He promoted Janelle to a decision-making position in the accounting department, but other than her, the only one of Cortland’s old guard managers to stay on board was—”
“Don’t say it,” Leigh interrupted.
“Ted Sullivan,” Warren finished. “The Chief Financial Officer.”
Leigh blew out a breath. “Now conveniently deceased.”
“Yes,” Warren agreed. “The board of directors is made up of Cort’s old buddies, and they probably would have stepped in if it looked like the business was in trouble. But since the stock values went up, they apparently stayed out of Bruce’s way.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out a tentative hand to pet Snowbell. The shameless cat stretched, exposing her belly.
“So what do you think is going on?” Leigh asked, not sure she wanted an answer. This was not the first time she had speculated whether the Finneys were a pack of avaricious murderers, but as evidence actually piled up against them, it was becoming more disturbing to do so.
