Flight

by Laura Griffin

Joel glanced at Nicole, who was writing something in her book.

  “What kind of boat was this?” he asked.

  “A skiff. I could tell by the motor.”

  “I would think you’d get a lot of skiffs back and forth with your house facing the bay like that,” he commented. “Especially when the fish are moving.”

  “Sure, but this one was going so fast that I noticed it.”

  “Can you describe the boat?”

  “Not really.” She glanced from Joel to Nicole. “I mean, it was still pretty dark out, so it was really just a shadow streaking across the water. It was going fast, and I remember the front of the boat was tipped up.”

  Joel watched her, trying to gauge her credibility.

  “Tell him about the running lights,” Nicole said.

  “Oh, well, yeah. It wasn’t using any running lights. I noticed that, too,” she said. “We get plenty of skiffs and fishing boats back and forth, but you’d be crazy to zip around on the bay without lights that time of morning. The sun wasn’t even up yet.”

  “What time was this, when you saw the boat?” he asked.

  “Five forty-five. I looked at my watch. It was just barely getting light outside.”

  Joel glanced at Nicole, and she lifted an eyebrow at him. The timing was about an hour ahead of Miranda’s discovery of the bodies, so it could fit.

  “One other thing that I forgot to ask.” Nicole flipped to a new page in her notebook. “While you were fishing, did you hear any unusual noises?”

  She frowned. “Like what?”

  “Like gunshots,” Nicole clarified. “Or maybe something that sounded like fireworks or a car backfiring?”

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  “And any unusual sounds in the middle of the night?”

  “No. Of course, I’m pretty far away from the place where they found them, so . . . I don’t know if I would have heard anything.” She looked from Nicole to Joel. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Nicole jotted a few notes.

  “Is that it?” The witness checked her watch. “I hate to be rude, but I really need to get back now. I forgot to put my cat in the bedroom, and my cabinets aren’t fully dry yet.”

  “We have all your contact info?” Joel asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ll be in touch if we need anything.” He pushed his chair back and offered her a handshake. “Thanks again for coming in.”

  Nicole led the woman out. When they were gone, he sat down to flip through the interview notes. After three years of working together, he’d learned to decipher Nicole’s scrawled shorthand.

  She came back and leaned against the doorframe.

  “What’s your take on her story?” he asked.

  “The timing works, but . . .”

  He looked up from the notepad. “But what?”

  “I don’t know. A boat with no running lights? Given the traffic on the bay, it seems like a pretty thin lead.”

  Joel stood up and handed her the notepad.

  “What’s your take?” she asked. “You’ve been doing this a lot longer than I have.”

  He rested his hands on his hips. He was bone tired, and the day wasn’t even over yet. He still had to go through a mountain of paperwork and circle back with the chief for a debriefing. And tomorrow he had to get up at the crack of dawn to drive to the mainland and attend back-to-back autopsies.

  “I think we’ve got two young victims, no IDs, no suspects, and no discernible motive,” he said. “Thin or not, this is the best lead we’ve got.”

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  The smell of fresh-ground coffee greeted Miranda as she stepped into the Island Beanery. Even getting up early she hadn’t managed to beat the crowd, and a line had already formed. She stood behind a pair of women in colorful yoga outfits as she studied the menu board.

  “I heard it was kids,” one of the women said in a low voice.

  “You mean—”

  “Teenagers. Can you imagine?”

  “God, no. Their poor parents.”

  Miranda wasn’t the only one eavesdropping on the conversation. A man had stepped into line behind her and was listening to every word as he pretended to be absorbed with his phone. He wore slacks and a crisp white button-down. He appeared slightly younger than she was—maybe late twenties—and his made-for-TV looks made Miranda think he was a reporter.

  The yoga mamas paid for their lattes and stepped aside to wait. Miranda ordered an extra-large house blend and collected it at the register. The maybe-reporter looked Miranda over as she took her drink to the condiment bar and added cream. She didn’t recognize him from the local news stations, so he could have been from Austin or even Dallas. Two dead young people at a popular tourist destination was a big story.

  Miranda scanned the parking lot as she returned to her Jeep. Sure enough, she spotted a white news van parked at the edge of the lot. Word was out. The logo on the side of the van was for a Houston station.

  Miranda tucked her coffee into the cup holder and felt a pang of sympathy for Joel as she pulled out of the lot. This case promised to be a nightmare already, and now he had to deal with a media firestorm, too. She didn’t envy him.

  Miranda used side streets to avoid the tourist center as she made her way through town. No rain in the forecast today, and she’d left the Jeep’s top at home so she could get some fresh air. She passed a couple of eateries and bike rental places before cutting over to the highway heading north. A few miles later, businesses gave way to neighborhoods. She passed an RV park and then a pasture where several horses grazed in a patch of shade beneath a water tower.

  She sipped her coffee, savoring the rich flavor and the hit of caffeine. She hadn’t slept well. Big surprise. She’d been haunted by dreams of dark water and long black snakes slithering around her. After tossing and turning most of the night, she’d hauled herself out of bed and stood under a tepid shower, trying to collect her thoughts. It was there under the anemic trickle with shampoo seeping into her eyes that she’d decided to bag the stack of grading she’d planned to do this morning and visit the nature center instead.

  The sign came into view, and Miranda’s pulse picked up as she made the turn. It was entirely possible she was wasting her time here. She wasn’t even sure what she planned to say. But she had no choice, really. Certain elements of yesterday’s crime scene were stuck in her head, and she knew herself well enough to know that they would stay stuck in her head until she tracked down some answers.

  The Lost Beach Birding Center and Nature Conservatory, known locally as “the nature center,” consisted of 160 acres of prairie and wetlands. The property’s hub was a low wooden building painted moss green to blend in with the marshes. Surrounded by an intricate network of gravel paths and wooden boardwalks, the center offered eighteen miles of scenic trails, as well as a butterfly pavilion and sea turtle rescue center. The place’s architectural focal point was a five-story wooden staircase leading to an observation deck where birders could peer through binoculars to spot a host of different species swooping over the marshes.

  The center was busy for a Tuesday morning. Besides a half dozen cars, two yellow school buses were parked in the lot.

  Miranda took a last sip of coffee before scooping up her file and heading in. She stood just inside the door for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the cool dimness. Although she’d visited the nature center countless times to take photographs or walk Benji, she’d never been inside the building before now. It was bigger than she’d expected.

  Miranda approached the reception desk, where a young man with a blond ponytail sat before a computer. He wore a blue shirt with a sea turtle patch on the front.

  “I’m looking for Daisy Miller,” Miranda told him. “Is she in today?”

  “She’s here, but—” He glanced behind him at
a glass window with a view of what appeared to be a science lab. “Think she’s outside right now. You could try the tanks.”

  “Thank you.”

  Miranda cut through the lobby, passing the Discovery Center, where a group of preschoolers gathered around a low aquarium. A young woman, also wearing a turtle shirt, lifted a starfish from the water and held it up for the kids to see.

  Miranda pushed through the door into the sweltering humidity. Not yet nine o’clock, and it was already in the eighties. The air smelled of brine and rotting vegetation. She passed through a low gate with a sign beside it: BEWARE OF ALLIGATORS. NO UNLEASHED PETS.

  Miranda’s sandals clacked over the wood as she made her way down the long boardwalk spanning the marsh. The path curved as she neared a wooden pavilion with a dark green roof. Beneath the roof was another group of children clustered around a large blue tank. Miranda scanned the adults in the group, and her gaze landed on a woman with curly gray hair and a wide-brimmed straw hat.

  “That’s Sparkle,” she was telling the kids. “She was rescued on the Fourth of July.”

  A redheaded boy leaned over the tank. “Why does she swim funny?”

  “Feet on the ground, please. She swims like that because she’s missing a flipper. See? She can only go in circles.”

  The kids squeezed closer for a better look at the turtle. Some lifted cell phones and snapped pictures while others tossed in turtle food.

  A young teacher clapped her hands. “Okay, it’s our turn at the Discovery Center. Let’s line up. Buddy system.”

  Miranda stepped out of the way as the kids scampered into formation. Then they tromped past her in pairs, leaving her alone with the woman in the hat. She looked to be a spry sixty years old and was dressed in khaki capri pants and a pink shirt with the turtle logo.

  Miranda approached her. “Good morning. Are you Daisy Miller?”

  She smiled. “That’s me.”

  “Also known as the Butterfly Lady?”

  She laughed. “I’ll answer to that, too.” Her gaze landed on the thick brown file in Miranda’s hand. “Are you a reporter?”

  “I’m a photographer. I read your book about birds on the island.”

  The woman’s smile widened, and she took off her hat. “Oh dear. Now you’re going to quiz me.” She wiped her brow with the back of her arm and reached for a water bottle sitting on a stool near the tank.

  “I’m doing some research and I wondered if I might have a few minutes of your time this morning? It shouldn’t take very long.”

  Daisy replaced her hat and sighed. “Let’s do it inside. It’s hot as Hades today.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Daisy passed through a gate and joined Miranda on the boardwalk. They headed back toward the building together, quickly catching up with the stragglers from the school group.

  “We get reporters from time to time.” She gave Miranda a sideways look. “Especially just before summer starts. Everyone wants a feature story about vacation destinations. Do you work for a magazine?”

  “I do freelance, mostly. Right now I’ve got a project with the Texas Birding Association. I’m doing their calendar.”

  “Oh, well, that’s wonderful. I know the director there.”

  “Samuel. Yes, he’s the one who hired me.” Miranda hoped dropping the name would buy her a bit of credibility.

  “Good for you. I love their calendar. Are you doing next year’s edition?”

  “That’s right,” Miranda said. “It goes to press at the end of August.”

  It sounded like a long lead time, but Miranda was already starting to get nervous. She had to submit sixty photographs, giving them a range to choose from, and they required a specific list of birds, all of which—supposedly—could be found along the lower Texas coast for at least part of the year.

  They reached the building and followed the schoolchildren into the lobby.

  “Let’s go in my office,” Daisy said, motioning for Miranda to follow her through a glass door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. They ended up in the windowed laboratory behind the reception area.

  Despite the windows, the laboratory didn’t seem to be merely a showroom. A man in a white lab coat stood at a long slate table peering into a microscope. He had a shaved head and rimless glasses, and he didn’t look up as Daisy and Miranda passed by. At the far end of the room, Daisy stopped beside a pair of computer workstations.

  “My office, such as it is.” She pulled out a chair and flopped into it with a sigh. “Gosh, it’s hot.” She set her water bottle by one of the keyboards. “Have a seat. Please. Would you like some water?”

  “Thanks, I’m fine. I just had breakfast.” Miranda sat, hoping she wasn’t sitting at the bald guy’s computer. She glanced over her shoulder at him, but he seemed absorbed in his work.

  “Really, I don’t want to take much of your time,” Miranda said. “But I have this feather that I need help identifying, and since you’re an ornithologist, I thought maybe you could help.”

  “Aha. I knew it.” She tugged open a drawer and fished out a pair of reading glasses. “That’s what most people want when they come to visit me. Let’s have a look.”

  Miranda opened the accordion file and pulled out several photographs she’d printed at home.

  Daisy frowned. “You don’t have the actual feather?”

  “I don’t, unfortunately.”

  She put on the glasses. “Well, it’s always better to have the real thing. Let’s see what we can do.”

  Miranda handed her the close-up picture first. It showed the long dark feather that had been snagged in the zipper of the backpack on the floor of the canoe.

  Daisy pursed her lips. “Hmm.” She leaned over the photograph. This close, Miranda saw that Daisy’s skin was dense with freckles and deeply lined, probably from decades of working outside.

  “And this one is for scale. I didn’t have a ruler handy.” Miranda passed her the photograph that included the dollar bill placed parallel to the feather. “The length is fourteen point two inches, or thirty-six centimeters.”

  “Long,” Daisy commented.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s symmetrical. Looks like a tail feather, given the shape.” Her brow furrowed. “This color is interesting.”

  Miranda’s pulse picked up.

  “It’s not black really, but more of an indigo.”

  “Yes.”

  Daisy looked at her, her pale gray eyes curious. “And it’s shimmery, too. Or is that just the light?”

  “No, that’s what it looked like to me, as well.” Miranda pulled out another photograph. She’d been saving this one for last. She’d taken it from a slightly different angle, and the feather had caught the sunlight. “Here.”

  Daisy took the photograph. She stared at it a long moment before muttering something.

  Miranda leaned closer. “What’s that?”

  “Strange. I’m seeing a greenish tinge now.” She met Miranda’s gaze, her expression baffled now. “You said you found this feather around here?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Well, I love a good mystery. Let’s figure this out.” She scooted her chair up to the computer and tapped the mouse to wake up the system. The desktop background image was an aerial view of Lost Beach taken from the north looking south toward the lighthouse. The sky was a dusky purple, and the causeway formed a glittery white arc connecting the island to the mainland.

  “I use the Global Feather Index.” Daisy clicked on a quill icon, and a sky blue screen appeared. “It’s popular with birders and also law enforcement.”

  “Law enforcement?” Miranda asked.

  “Customs people. They’re trying to crack down on trafficking, you know.”

  Daisy clicked into a screen and ticked down a list. “Let’s see . . . color. Length. Shape. This is defin
itely one of the tail feathers, or rectrices. A middle one, I suspect, because of the almost perfect symmetry. And it has a relatively short quill. See? This feather acts as a rudder, helping the bird steer in flight.”

  She answered several more questions on the screen and clicked SEARCH.

  “Hmm. ‘No results found.’”

  Daisy went back to the form and navigated to the “Region” section. She unclicked “North America” and hit the SEARCH button again.

  A result came back, and Daisy made a low whistle.

  “Look at that. It’s what I suspected. Anodorhynchus leari.”

  Miranda’s heart skittered. “What?”

  She swiveled her chair to face Miranda. “The indigo macaw, or Lear’s macaw.”

  “A parrot.” Miranda had suspected the same when she’d seen the feather’s greenish tinge.

  “Not just any parrot. These are endangered.”

  Miranda leaned closer to the screen. “Really?”

  Daisy clicked again. A photograph of a pair of dark blue birds appeared on the screen. The birds were long and elegant, with indigo plumage. Patches of bright yellow colored their cheeks.

  “They’re native to Brazil, and their populations have decreased dramatically in recent years,” Daisy said. “There are just over a thousand left in the wild. Jason is really the expert.” She nodded at the man in the lab coat. “He wrote his thesis on endangered species. You say the picture of the specimen was taken around here?”

  “Yes.”

  “But not in nature. This was taken . . . Where is this, exactly?” Daisy held up the photograph showing a narrow glimpse of the canoe bottom.

  “The feather was found in a boat.”

  “That I can see. I mean, what was it doing there? Whose boat is this?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.” Miranda smiled to soften the message. “Sorry.”

  Daisy looked at her, lifting an eyebrow. “Is this a police photograph?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’ve seen police pictures before, and that’s what this looks like to me.” Daisy set the photograph down and removed her glasses. Miranda tried to read her expression. She didn’t look offended that Miranda had dodged her question. Instead, she looked worried.