by Jan Dunlap
Or he couldn’t hear her. Or maybe both.
“Hey, Minnesota,” Schooner said, clapping his hand on my shoulder, “how about I get you and your lovely wife a nice cold glass of the best fresh-squeezed orange juice you’ve ever tasted, and then we go cheer on the best MOB float you’ve ever seen?”
I looked in the eyes of the man who’d saved our lives and smiled. “Well, I have to tell you, it’s the first MOB float we’ve ever seen, but I have no doubt, it’s going to be the best.”
I put my hand out to shake his. “Thanks, Schooner. You’re a good man. One of the best, yourself.”
He shook my hand. “My pleasure, Minnesota.”
“So where’s Pearl?” Luce asked. “Did you and the chief take her and Mark to the parade starting point before you came back here?”
Crap!
I’d totally forgotten that the kids were marooned out at Rosalie’s house for safe-keeping. How could there be a Citrus Festival Parade without its Queen?
“Let’s go,” I said to Luce, grabbing her hand and starting for the door to the hallway. “Chief, I’m going to go get Pearl!” I shouted across the room to Pacheco. He looked up briefly and nodded.
“We need statements,” he called back. “We can do it here later.”
We headed out to the garage, where Buzz and Rosalie were in the center of a group of birders, all of whom seemed unusually quiet. They reminded me of a handful of birds in a bush that suddenly go silent when a hawk flies by.
Hearing gunshots inside a house will probably do that to you, I figured.
As soon as they caught sight of Luce and me, however, the group broke out into a barrage of questions.
“What happened?”
“Did anyone get hurt?”
“Where’s the chief?”
“Who all was in there?”
“The chief will let you know,” I told them. “We’ve got to retrieve Pearl and get her to the parade start.”
Buzz stepped out of the crowd and handed me a keyring.
“Take the Mustang,” he said. “Pearl wanted to use it for the parade, anyway. After what she’s been through this morning, she deserves to ride in style.”
He cast a glance back in Rosalie’s direction and smiled. “I have a feeling Mark would be happy to be her designated driver.”
Then, his eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
“Thanks, Bob. For everything,” he added.
“Any time, Buzz.”
I turned to my wife and held out the keyring. “I think you should drive, Luce.”
Her eyes lit up and she snatched the keyring from my fingers.
“You got that right, Minnesota,” she grinned. “Let’s fly.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I got Rosalie’s address from Buzz and put it into my phone GPS. Luce slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. When that big V-8 roared to life the look on her face was about as blissful as I’ve ever seen it.
The woman sure loved her cars.
Did they make infant car seats for classic Mustangs?
I couldn’t wait to find out.
In the meantime, though, we had a queen and her white knight to pick up.
“Take a left, Luce,” I told her, and we glided smoothly out of the neighborhood.
With the Mustang’s top down, the sun was warm on our faces and a light breeze carried the scent of lemons and oranges into the car.
“So, did you get what you wanted out of this trip?” I asked my wife as we drove out to Rosalie’s house to pick up the kids. “Sunshine, heat, lemons and birds?”
“I did,” she assured me. “I got it all. Mission accomplished… and then some.”
She threw me a happy glance. “How about you, Bobby? Did you get what you wanted?”
I gazed at my wife behind the wheel of Mark’s Mustang. She was as beautiful as ever.
And she was carrying our first child.
“Yup,” I said. “Aside from a murder, a shooting, an almost-arrest, a car chase, and being held at gunpoint, it was pretty darn satisfying as far as a birding vacation goes.”
I leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Mission accomplished,” I said, patting her on the belly, “and then some.”
Bob White’s Bird List for Kiskadee of Death
Ruddy Duck
Sora
Gadwall
Common Gallinule
American Coot
Mottled Duck
Blue-winged Teal
Green-winged Teal
Vermilion Flycatcher
Yellow-crowned Night-Heron
Green Kingfisher
Great Kiskadee
Plain Chachalaca
Golden-fronted Woodpecker
Black-crested Titmouse
Buff-bellied Hummingbird
Northern Mockingbird
Inca Dove
White-tipped Dove
Turkey Vulture
Eastern Screech-Owl
Couch’s Kingbird
Great-tailed Grackle
White-eyed Vireo
Yellow-bellied Sapsucker
White-winged Dove
Orange-crowned Warbler
Rufous Hummingbird
Curve-billed Thrasher
Red-crowned Parrot
Gray Hawk
Green Jay
Altamira Oriole
Eared Grebe
White Ibis
Acknowledgements
Researching and writing this book has literally opened new horizons for me, since I’d never visited the Lower Rio Grande Valley before I met Nancy Millar at a Birding Diversity Conference several years ago. Nancy, a dynamo who is the vice-president of the Convention and Visitors Bureau of the McAllen, Texas, Chamber of Commerce, invited me to come to McAllen and see for myself why it’s such a world-class birding site, and so I did. (Of course, it didn’t hurt that there was almost a one hundred degree difference in temperatures between Minnesota and Texas when I left for McAllen in January 2014.) My visit convinced me I had to set my next Birder Murder Mystery there, and I am indebted to Nancy for introducing me to the area, the culture, and the many new friends I met there.
Rhonda Gomez is one of those friends, as well as my go-to source for good restaurant recommendations and my hostess at the Birds Nest in McAllen. Keith Hackland, the owner of the Alamo Inn, was my charming and informative host in Alamo, where I met fellow Minnesota birder Gunnar Berg, whose name, along with his Hawaiian shirt, I have borrowed for one of my characters. Carlos Rivas, superintendent at Texas Parks and Wildlife Department, graciously answered my questions about legal jurisdiction along the Lower Rio Grande Valley and clarified some immigration points for me. Sarah Williams, the executive director of Frontera Audubon, tipped me off to the SpaceX project, which became such a key piece of Kiskadee of Death. Finally, I have to add the folks at Shipley Do-Nuts to my thank-you list for my personal tour of the McAllen store, and yes, the Bavarian cream-filled doughnuts are awesome.
Here in Minnesota, I have another crew to thank for their contributions to my crafting my manuscript. Thanks to Joe Byrnes for sharing with me his true story about almost getting arrested at Falcon Dam in Texas. Sharon Stiteler, the Birdchick, sent me to Fat Daddy’s in Weslaco when I told her I was going to visit the nine World Birding Centers along the Lower Rio Grande Valley. My team at North Star Press—Corinne, Curtis, and Anne—continue to keep me on task and inspire me to make each book better—I am honored to work with them and be a part of the North Star family.
As always, I am incredibly grateful to my family for all the support they give me in my writing career. A big round of applause goes to my son Bob for checking my m
anuscript for avian accuracy, in addition to being so patient with his mother as I continue to develop my own birding skills and store of knowledge. As for my husband Tom, there will never be enough words to thank him properly for everything he contributes to my ability to pursue this writing passion of mine. I am truly blessed in every way.
Finally, I want to acknowledge all my readers for joining me on this Birder Murder Mystery ride. Your comments and suggestions are always appreciated, and you make my day when you let me know how much you’ve enjoyed Bob White and his adventures. I hope you’ll continue to share your enthusiasm with others, encouraging all of us to look at our great outdoors with new eyes.
Good birding to all!