“If they’re an actual club, they would,” Cecilia said. “But you may find it’s hard to locate them in the records.” A retired CPA, she was likely to know.
“What about pinpointing direction?” suggested Dorothy. “Can we figure out which way they were flying?”
She might be on to something, thought Lark.
“Do any of you remember the night the geese came in?” Angela asked suddenly.
“Sure,” Lark said. “We all do. That was the night of the big storm.”
“That’s what I thought.” Angela walked back to the breakfast bar and dragged her stool closer to the table. “When I was in college, I was asked to document a pair of trumpeter swans. From what we could gather, my lab partner and I determined that, after being blown off course by a storm, the cob was knocked down because of wing icing, and the pen followed.”
“And… ?” Dorothy said, making an impatient motion with her hand.
“I see where you’re going,” Harry said, pounding on Lark’s shoulder in excitement. “Lark, do you have a map?”
“Try the phone drawer.” She pointed to a wide drawer under the counter, the most disorganized spot in her house. Inside, scissors, pens, pencils, rubber bands, and notepaper vied for space alongside twist ties, paper clips, and a few loose screws. “I doubt it’s very detailed.”
“Anything will do,” replied Harry, digging in the mess. “Voilà!” He held up the prize, then spread it in the center of the kitchen table, and pointed to Elk Lake. “If we know the direction and the speed of the wind, we can use the information, factored with the distance geese fly in a day, and get a good idea of where the flock overnighted prior to landing here.”
“Who among us knows how fast the wind was blowing that day?” Andrew asked.
Everyone shook their heads.
“We can find out on the Internet,” suggested Gertie. “You can look up anything there.”
Lark headed for her office, the second most disorganized spot in the house. The cramped, cluttered room stood off the kitchen hallway. Used primarily for storage, the desk stood buried in paper destined for the four-drawer filing cabinet in the corner. A bookcase crammed with tattered paperbacks, and topped with a picture of her mother, covered a hip-high area of the back wall. A small south-facing window allowed light to seep in from the overflow parking lot.
Flipping on the desk lamp, she booted up the computer and Googled the weather. The information popped right up. Scrolling down, she found Wednesday’s record.
“It says the wind blew thirty to forty miles per hour out of the northeast,” she hollered, hoping they could hear her in the kitchen.
“Great,” answered Harry. “Now, how far do geese travel in a day?”
Lark switched her search but didn’t come up with an answer.
“Who knows?” she said, returning to the kitchen in defeat.
“I’ll bet it’s far,” Dorothy said, pinching off a corner of a slice of banana bread and stuffing it into her mouth.
“Migrating Aleutian Canada geese fly over two thousand miles between takeoff and touchdown,” Andrew said.
Opal nodded her head. Angela wrinkled her nose.
“You know that off the top of your head?” she asked.
“I read an article about them in one of the birding magazines.”
“What about lessers or Richardson’s, then?”
“They weren’t part of the article.”
“Let’s say one hundred miles,” interrupted Harry, pulling a calculator out of his breast pocket. “It seems to me migrating geese fly between one hundred seventy and five hundred miles a day, but these geese would have reached their wintering grounds. They’re stationary, for the most part. Any traveling they do is for exploration and to search for food. Let’s factor using a hundred.” He punched in some numbers, then stuffed the calculator back in his pocket. “Do you have a compass?”
Lark wobbled her hand. “North, south… ?”
He shook his head. “Math.”
“Again, maybe in the office.” She padded back down the hall. The center desk drawer coughed up a child-sized version. “Will this work?”
“It’s perfect.” Harry checked the gauge on the map, then adjusted the arc. Placing the pointed end of the tool on Elk Lake, he drew a wide circle. “Factoring in all the variables, I’d say it’s safe to assume the geese were somewhere inside this circle.”
Angela pointed to Barr Lake. “Look, it falls within the circle. I knew it.” She told the others her theory about how Ian’s death and Eric’s accident were related.
“I hate to be the wet blanket,” Andrew said, “but the swan could have flown in there from anywhere.”
Lark studied the map. “That’s true, Andrew, but it was there, and it suffered from symptoms similar to the geese.” She reminded them about Covyduck’s report. “Based on the vegetation, we know they fed on wetland grasses and corn. That knocks out the western region and limits the eastern range by crops.”
“And we end up with what?” Gertie asked.
“A swath of land in Adams, Weld, and Morgan counties,” Harry said. He scratched the back of his neck and sat down. “It’s a lot of ground to cover.”
“Maybe if we split up,” Cecilia suggested.
There were miles of roads to cover, the task daunting. Still, Lark’s need to do something overwhelmed logic. “I’m game.”
Angela planted her hands on her thighs and leaned out over the map, staring down. “What if we searched by air?”
“Can we do that?” Cecilia asked. She glanced around at the others.
“Why not?” Angela said.
“The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service conducted a similar investigation in Wisconsin,” Harry said, showing he’d done some research. “By flying over, the agents were able to pinpoint a shooting club in the general vicinity of Lake Geneva that fit the criteria they were looking for. As it turned out, the wetlands behind the skeet stations were contaminated, and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service was able to force a cleanup.”
“I don’t see why I couldn’t justify doing the same thing here.”
Andrew snorted. “With as much grief as you got over paying for one necropsy, what makes you think your boss will bend over and let you charter a plane?”
“As much as I hate to admit it, he has a point,” Gertie said.
“We can’t just give up,” Lark said, realizing she was letting emotion drive her actions. “If U.S. Fish and Wildlife won’t pay, I will.”
All eyes turned on her.
“It can’t cost that much to rent a plane for part of a day,” she said. “Besides, maybe the answers will save the Drummond. Then I can write it off.”
“Are you planning to go up with her?” Dorothy asked. The alarm in her voice reached the high decibels.
Lark shrugged. She hadn’t really thought that far ahead. “Any reason I shouldn’t?”
“One big one,” Harry said. “You’re scared to death of heights.”
Just because she panicked the time Rachel Stanhope took her climbing. They had hung off the side of a cliff for god’s sake. Besides, she’d flown in jets before.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Listen to Harry and Dot, dear,” Cecilia said. “A small plane is different. My Jimmy—”
“I’ll be fine!” The last thing she felt like hearing right now were stories about Cecilia’s late husband, Jimmy. He’d been missing in action since the time of the Wright brothers.
Angela looked skeptical. “I’m not sure having passengers is a good idea.”
Lark felt her heart bump in her chest. “Look, if I’m paying, I’m going.”
Angela raised her eyebrows.
Lark softened her tone. “And anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to have another pair of eyes scanning the ground.”
“She’s right about that,” Dorothy said. “Besides, it’s a lot less dangerous than driving a car.”
Angela called Kramner first and left a message on both the office
phone and his cell. When he didn’t return her call, Harry arranged for a charter pilot to meet them at the airfield at the crack of dawn.
“It’s too late for you to go home tonight, Angela. Why don’t you stay here? You can sleep in the guest room.”
Angela debated driving to Fort Collins, then opted to stay. After the others left and Lark had retreated to the bathtub, Angela arranged for Bernie Crandall to meet her at the house.
She let him into the kitchen when he arrived and handed him the baggie with the plastic containers. “I found these in Eric’s pocket.”
Crandall held the bag up to the light. “Fishing-sinker containers?”
“Do you think you could run them for prints?”
“What for? There must be hundreds of these out there.” He gestured broadly toward the lake.
“But not that many mixed in with the debris Frakus plowed off the ice. Check out the notation. He picked them up in the pile of debris Frakus cleared before the tournament started.”
Bernie tipped back his hat with a beefy hand and scratched his forehead. “So, let me get this straight. You think someone pushed Eric into the hole and locked him in Tauer’s ice house because he found these on the ice?”
Angela shook her head. “If the person knew Eric had them, he would have taken them. No, I think someone scattered the fishing sinkers on the ice to cover up the real reason the geese were sick. I think that person was involved with Ian’s death. And I think he figured Eric was onto him,” she said, ticking the points off on her fingers.
“And the poisoned waterfowl is the link?”
“Correct.” At least Crandall understood the connection.
He twisted the plastic bag in his hand. “I doubt we’ll pull much off these containers.”
“Maybe not, but it won’t hurt to try.”
“Think it’s the same person who placed the phone call to Velof?” asked Crandall, slipping the containers into his coat pocket.
“It stands to reason.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
After Bernie left, Angela headed to bed. She woke up surprised to find Kramner still hadn’t returned her call. Should she should try and reach him again? Based on his “no big expenditures” lecture, she figured he would ground her. Better to follow Ian’s advice. “Solve the case, make Kramner look good, then submit your expenses.”
At five a.m., she knocked on Lark’s bedroom door. No answer. She knocked a second time, then headed for the kitchen. There she found a note saying Lark had gone to the Drummond and would be right back.
Angela slipped on her insulated coat and headed out to warm up the pickup. If Lark wasn’t back by the time the car blew warm air, she would drive over to the Drummond and get her. Leaning her head back, she wondered how Eric was doing, then a tap on the passenger-side window caused her to start.
Lark peeked her head over the sill and gestured for Angela to unlock the door. She wore a dark hat pulled down over her blonde hair, and she kept glancing from side to side.
“What the heck are you doing?” Angela asked.
Lark slid into the passenger side, keeping low in the seat. “I had to ditch Linda Verbiscar.”
“The reporter?” Angela glanced around. Why was Verbiscar following Lark? Because of the poisonings at the Drummond?
“Where is she now?” Angela dropped the truck into gear.
“As far as I know, she’s parked in the hotel’s valet parking.”
Easing the truck out of the parking space, Angela crawled the truck toward the road. If she hugged the line of parked cars and moved slowly, maybe she could slip onto the road unseen. The last thing they needed was Linda Verbiscar following them around. The woman was aggressive and loud, and if she tracked them down, no doubt she would try and bully her way onto the plane.
“I think she knows about the flight,” Lark said, stealing a glance out the rear window.
“What makes you think that?”
“She asked me a few questions.”
Angela sought perspective. “Who would have told her?”
“One of the EPOCH members, maybe. I don’t remember your telling anyone to keep the trip under wraps.” Her tone was defensive, and the truth stung. Even Angela had told Bernie Crandall.
“Do you think Verbiscar put it out over the air?”
“Who knows?” Lark pulled off her hat and slouched lower in the seat. “Why?”
Even though Angela had left multiple messages for Kramner, she had never actually told him what she was doing.
“Your boss doesn’t know, does he?” Lark asked, as though reading her mind.
“Let’s just say I’m deep undercover.”
“Is that why you’re not wearing your uniform?”
Angela had brought one uniform and one change of clothes, and had ended up staying in Elk Park for the weekend. “I’m wearing the jeans and sweater because the uniform’s dirty.”
That, and the incognito factor. In the event they found something and she asked the pilot to land the plane, it might make it easier to explain her presence on the ground.
When they reached the intersection to Highway 34, Angela could see the KEPC-TV mobile unit still sitting in front of the Drummond. She eased onto the highway and prayed Verbiscar wouldn’t spot the truck.
“Is she following us?”
Lark peered past Angela over the back seat. “No. They’re still parked.”
Angela drove while Lark stayed slouched in the seat and placed a phone call on her cell. After a short conversation, she ended the call and announced, “According to Stephen, Verbiscar mentioned the flight in her six a.m. report.”
“Great.” Angela slammed the heel of her hand on the steering wheel. “Just great.”
“She also leaked the information about the shot’s unusual properties.”
Angela stiffened. Who else but Lark and Covyduck knew about that?
The EPOCH members, but the more Angela thought about it, the more she doubted any of them would have spoken with Verbiscar.
“Do you think she talked to Covyduck?”
“It’s possible,” answered Lark, sitting up at last. “She started tailing me at the hospital.”
Angela glanced at Lark. “How’s Eric doing?”
“The same.” Lark’s body language and clipped monotone made it clear she didn’t want to talk about it.
“Give it some time.”
They rode in silence after that. Twenty minutes later, Angela wheeled the truck into the parking lot at the airport. A double-wide trailer served as the office, and two rows of oversized Quonset huts housed some of the planes. Other small aircraft were lined up out near the fence, while two short runways formed a cross to the north.
A blue and white Cessna 180 sitting on the tarmac was being checked over by two men.
“Hello there,” greeted the taller of the two when Angela climbed out of the truck. “Coot Hensley at your service.” Doffing his baseball cap, he turned to his companion. “My damsels have arrived at last. It looks like we’re good to go.”
Damsels? Angela considered taking offense, then considered his age. He had to be in his sixties. Tall and lanky, he wore his grizzled hair buzzed short in military fashion. A five o’clock shadow dusted his face, and she wondered if he’d forgotten to shave. Then he flashed a toothy smile, and she decided it was just his style.
Angela grinned back, then reached into the truck, picked up the digital camera lying on the seat, and looped it around her neck. “Are you ready, Lark?”
Lark climbed out of the passenger seat, a stricken look on her face.
“You look a little green there, young lady.”
Lark’s grip on the truck rail turned her knuckles white. Her eyes stretched wide with fear. “Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.”
“You’re the one who wanted to come along,” Angela reminded her. “Don’t bail on me now.”
“What’s the problem, girlie? Scared?”
Angela had to admit, the plane looked
small, and Coot looked a little bit rogue.
“Don’t be,” he said. “I’m the best danged pilot this side of the Mississippi. It’s a clear day, not a cloud in the sky. We should have smooth sailing all the way.”
Lark looked less than convinced.
Coot pointed her to the backseat and put Angela up beside him. “You’ll have a good view from here, Angela. And you, missy, you’re going to love the ride. There’s just nothing like it. Put your headset on.”
He picked up a pair of earphones attached to a mike and demonstrated the fit. Angela followed suit, nudging Lark to put her headset on too.
“It makes communication a whole lot easier. Can you hear me?”
She shook her head, and he flipped a switch on the side of the headgear.
“Can you hear me now?” His words reverberated in her ears.
“Loud and clear.” Angela glanced back at Lark. The woman had dug her hands into the cracks of the seat cushions and was holding on for dear life.
“Are there seatbelts?” Lark asked.
“Just like in a car,” answered Coot.
While Lark dug for the belt, Coot turned the key, and the engine whirled to life. Angela glanced around the cockpit, surprised by how much it was like being in a car. The dashboard filled the front of the plane with wheels and dials like fuel gauges and speedometers.
“You can adjust your seat to give her more legroom if you want. There’s a lever under the seat.”
Angela scooted forward, heard Lark’s belt click tight, then fastened her own. Not that she thought it would do much good if the plane went down. Very few people fell out of the sky and walked away from the wreckage.
Coot lifted a thermos of coffee. “Anyone want some?”
“No. Thanks anyway,” Angela answered.
Lark also declined.
“Well, I like my java in the morning.” Pouring some into a disposable cup, he stowed the thermos under his seat, glanced over his shoulder at Lark, then winked at Angela. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’ve been doing this since before you were born.”
Throttling up, he sped the plane forward.
Angela strained to see over the dashboard, to no avail. “I can’t see.”
“You will. The Cessna’s a tailwheel aircraft. Wait until the plane gets up to speed.”
Death Takes a Gander Page 14