To Kill a Hummingbird

by J. R. Ripley

  Mason beamed. “Of course. Forgive me, Amy. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

  “No problem,” I replied. “Don’t let me keep you. I came to listen, not talk.”

  “Good luck, Mason.” Derek appeared at my side. He held three copies of Hummingbirds and Their Habits. “Can we get these signed now, or do we have to wait in line with the rest of the masses?” he joked. The books had been stickered with the Bookarama logo on the back to show they’d been purchased.

  “Leave them with me,” Mason said with a smile. “I’ll have to think of something very special to write.”

  I wished the professor good luck and took a seat between Mom and Derek.

  “You bought three copies?” I said. Mason’s newest book was a forty-dollar, full-color, hardcover edition.

  Derek shrugged. “What can I say? One for each of us: you, me, and Barbara. He’s your friend. I wanted to be supportive. Besides,” he said, casting a glance at Rose, who stood nervously behind the sales counter, “it helps Mrs. Smith, too. I have a feeling this little soiree is costing her a bundle. She told me she had to rent the projection screen, and I saw that bottle of wine Mason’s drinking. That stuff’s seventy dollars a liter.”

  I whistled and reached for Derek’s hand. I’d noticed two more bottles on the floor beneath the table. “You’re a good guy.”

  “Shush,” Mom said. “Professor Livingston is about to begin.”

  Rose gave Mason a glowing and perhaps overlong introduction. Nonetheless, he seemed to relish every word. I wondered again if anything special had happened between the two of them last night. Rose had been the ex-Mrs. Smith for a very long time, ten years or more from what my mother had told me.

  A small smile passed my lips. Maybe that was why Mason hadn’t shown up for breakfast. Maybe he’d had company, and maybe that company had been Rose Smith. I remembered Paul describing the two of them drinking together last night at the biergarten. It could also explain why I had been unable to get a hold of either Mason or Rose today. They could have been together the entire time.

  “What’s so funny?” whispered Derek.

  “Nothing.” I squeezed his hand. “I’ll tell you later.”

  * * *

  Mason’s presentation went over very well. After speaking for nearly an hour and showing numerous slides taken from his new book, Rose announced that the professor would stay and sign everyone’s copy.

  “Wow,” I said, looking at the line that had formed versus the small number of people heading for the exit, “by my guesstimate, more than three-quarters are staying to buy books and get Mason’s autograph.”

  “Good for Rose,” Derek said. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

  “What about the reception?” Mom asked, glancing toward the crowded signing table.

  “We can stay if you like,” Derek said, shooting me odd signals with his eyes. “I don’t know about you two,” he stretched his arms over his head, “but I’m worn out.” He nodded toward my mother.

  Mom said she was fine with staying, but I could tell by the look on her face just how tired she was. Crowds wear her out. Derek must have noticed even before I did.

  “Mason looks pretty busy over there.” I took Mom’s hand. “He won’t mind if we leave. Besides, I don’t think he’ll even know we’ve gone.”

  “Are you sure, dear?” Mom asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  Derek pulled the car around so Mom wouldn’t have to walk. Despite her fatigue, Mom insisted on treating us to hot fudge sundaes at Sugar Mountain, a small ice-cream shop a mile away. Neither Derek nor I could say no to that.

  After finishing, I was on a sugar high, but I could see the bags under my mother’s eyes. “Time to go home, Derek. And no more stops, even if they do involve hot fudge and whipped cream.”

  He agreed and drove us straight back to our place.

  “Care to come inside for a nightcap?” I asked Derek as he dropped us off at the curb outside Birds & Bees.

  “Don’t worry,” Mom smirked. “I have no intention of staying up and watching TV.” The only television in the apartment was in the living room. “I, for one, am exhausted and intend to go straight to bed.”

  Derek turned off the engine. “I’d love to come up,” he said. He jumped out of the car and came around to open my mother’s door first. The man is such a gentleman. “And you, young lady, are more than welcome to join us.”

  Mom giggled. “I know better than that.”

  I climbed out of the backseat. “Oh, shoot.”

  “What is it?” asked Derek, leading my mother up the walk by the arm.

  “We forgot our signed copies of the book back at Rose’s.”

  “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” asked Mom.

  I shook my head. “I promised Mason I’d start reading tonight and tell him what I think. Give him my first impressions when we meet for coffee tomorrow. I know he’ll be disappointed if I don’t.”

  “It’s late,” said Derek, looking at his watch. “The store’s probably closed by now.”

  “Maybe.” I pulled out my cell phone. “I’ll give Rose a call.” I dialed. “The line’s busy.” Maybe Rose was busy with Mason, I thought with a smile. “I’ll just run over. It won’t take long.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Derek looked from my mother to me. “Are you going to be all right, Barbara?”

  Before she could frame an answer, I said, “No, that’s okay. I’ll go, Derek. Would you mind seeing Mom upstairs?” It was late and she was tired and there were two flights of steep stairs to climb. It was a pity the old house didn’t have an elevator—except for a dumb one, which I’d had sealed off because of a past incident.

  Derek reluctantly agreed. He fished in his trouser pocket and pulled out his key ring. “Here, take the Civic. It will be faster.”

  “I promise I’ll be right back.”

  Derek grinned. “I’ll start the popcorn.”

  I knew I was in for a treat. The man loved his butter.

  I drove back to Bookarama. This time I was fortunate enough to find a parking slot right in front. Everyone seemed to be gone. The sign over the door was turned off, and the street was dark. Was I too late?

  I shut off the ignition and hurried to the entrance. A couple of lights were still on inside toward the back. The door was unlocked.

  I went inside. Several paperbacks were scattered on the floor between the door and the sales counter. The folding chairs were just as they had been. I couldn’t see the signing table because the projector display screen had been moved in front.

  “Rose?” I called. There was no sign of her or her daughter or any of the other clerks.

  I headed for the table to look for the books Derek had purchased, thinking that maybe Mason had left them there. He’d obviously returned to the campground.

  Rose came from the storeroom, pulling a long, rolled-up rug the color of a purple finch. She dropped the heavy rug at her feet when she saw me. The plank floor shook. Her eyes flew to her right, and my eyes followed.

  Mason Livingston was seated at the signing table. His torso drooped forward and his head rested on the table. A pair of scissors protruded from his neck.

  Rose bit her lip. “He’s dead. I killed him. And I’m glad he’s dead.”

  5

  I felt my mouth go dry and my heart turn to warm jelly. “Rose?” I took a half step closer. “What—I mean—what happened? Are you okay?”

  The bookstore owner nodded. She looked slightly disheveled but otherwise okay. “I’m fine, Amy.” She smoothed her skirt, then cast a long look at the professor. “Will you help me get rid of the body?”

  “Help you—” I stuttered. Had the woman gone mad? What on earth had happened after everyone had gone? My box of Otelia’s chocolate-covered cherries lay open near Mason’s right hand. The books Derek had purchased sat askew at the edge of the table with the signing pen atop them. Several other copies of the book were stacked at the edge of the table.

  Ros
e sighed heavily. “I suppose we’d better telephone the police then.” She pointed to the sales counter. “The phone’s over there.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. The store phone was at the end of the counter, near the wall. I eased my way over without taking my eyes off Rose. My hand fumbled for the phone. It was one of those old-fashioned ones attached to an answering machine.

  I dialed the police station. “Hello?” I said. “Anita?” Anita works the switchboard there. “This is Amy Simms.” It was then that I noticed that every paperback on the floor had had its cover torn off.

  “Good evening, Amy. How are you? How’s Barb?” Anita and my mother were very good friends.

  “Not so good,” I said. I kept my eye on Rose, who stood near the professor’s body, her arms limp at her sides. “I’m at Bookarama.” I gnawed at my lip before saying, “There’s been a murder.”

  “A murder? Are you sure?”

  If she’d seen that pair of scissors jutting out of Mason Livingston’s neck and the pool of blood dripping from the wound, she wouldn’t have had to ask that question. “I’m sure.”

  “Are you okay, Amy? Are you hurt? In any danger?”

  “I’m fine, Anita. I-I don’t think I’m in any danger.” I hoped that was true. Rose looked docile enough.

  “What about the perp? Did you get a good look at him? Do you know where he went? Jerry’s going want to know so he can issue an all-points.”

  “Yes, I got a look at them, and it’s a her. And there’s no need to send out an alert. It’s Rose Smith, and she’s right here.”

  “Amy!”

  “It’s okay, Anita.”

  “I’m going to dispatch the troops and an ambulance.”

  “Yes, I suppose you should.” I glanced at Mason’s lifeless form. The ambulance wasn’t going to do the professor much good now, but at least he wouldn’t be left lying in so undignified a fashion too much longer. “But not for me.”

  “Hold on and don’t touch a thing,” Anita said calmly. “I don’t want you hanging up. I’ll open up another line and call Jerry. He’s at his lodge.” She clicked her tongue. “He’s not going to be happy.”

  * * *

  And he wasn’t.

  “Confound it, Simms!” Jerry bellowed as he came strutting through Bookarama’s front door. He was dressed in civilian clothes. “What the hell are you up to?” He cast a curious look at Rose.

  Jerry is about my size with blond crew-cut hair that makes him look about twelve years old, a squat nose, freckles, and dark jade eyes. We’d dated once in high school. Once was enough.

  Jerry claims he was born with his distinctive nose, but I think he was punched in it—not by a culprit but by a girl he had made a clumsy pass at in high school.

  I told Anita the police had arrived and hung up the phone. “What’s that supposed to mean, Jerry?” I’d tried to speak with Rose while we waited for Jerry and his force to show up, but she had refused my overtures.

  The bookstore owner had taken a chair near the door with her back to Mason’s body and not said a single word after stating, “We’ll wait here quietly for the police, Amy.” Then she had sat with her hands folded primly in her lap, remaining as quiet as a nesting wren.

  “I mean, don’t you have anything better to do than stick your nose in police business, Simms?” Chief Jerry Kennedy slapped his lodge cap against his thigh. The cap was a ratty-looking bit of brown leather and fur. “Sutton, Reynolds! Don’t either of you touch anything until we get photos and prints.”

  Both officers promised to obey. Dan Sutton was speaking with Rose, who had remained seated in the last row of chairs. Her hands were still folded in her lap. Larry Reynolds began taking photographs of the crime scene with a fancy camera.

  “Look, Jerry, Mason was a friend of mine. He was here at the bookstore for a signing of his latest book.”

  “What sort of book?”

  “What does that matter?” When he ignored my question, I continued. “A book about hummingbirds.”

  Jerry snorted. “A book about hummingbirds? What for?”

  “Yes, Jerry, a book about hummingbirds. Some people like them. We left our copies here at the store, and I came back for them.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Mom, Derek, and I.”

  Jerry nodded. “Then what?”

  “Then I came back by myself to pick up our books.” I explained how the lights were on in back and the door was open. “So I came in.”

  “And saw the dead man.”

  “Not right away. As you can see, the screen hides the table. I didn’t see him until I got closer.”

  “And you saw Mrs. Smith at that time?” Jerry eyed the bookstore owner.

  “Pretty much.”

  “And she confessed to murdering the guy?”

  I sighed. “Yes, pretty much.” The question was why.

  “Sutton!” hollered the chief. “Take Mrs. Smith down to HQ. Hold her until I get there.”

  Dan said a few words to Rose. She stood and complacently placed her hands behind her back. Officer Sutton pulled out a pair of cuffs and snapped them around her wrists.

  Chief Kennedy and I stepped away from the door as Dan and his prisoner passed. “Are the cuffs really necessary?” I asked.

  The corner of Jerry’s mouth turned up. “Why don’t you ask the dead man that question?” he quipped. “Oh, no, wait.” He snapped his fingers. “You can’t.” Jerry stood on his tiptoes just so he could loom over me. “He’s dead.” The chief waved at his officer. “Take her away, Dan.”

  Jerry waved at me. “You can go, too, Simms. I’ll call you if I need anything further.”

  “Can I have my books?”

  He looked confused. I pointed to the table. Mason hadn’t yet been moved by the waiting EMTs. “Evidence. You’ll get your bird books back if and when I release them.”

  “Fine.” I pushed open the door.

  “Wait.”

  I wheeled around, tugging at the strap of my purse over my shoulder. “Yes?”

  “What time did you get here?”

  “About ten fifteen, I’d say. The signing was over just after nine. We went for ice cream, then returned to Birds and Bees.” I nodded my head. “Yes, I’d say I arrived here just a little after ten.”

  Instead of thanking me for the information, Jerry shooed me away with his fingers.

  I stifled the urge to give him a piece of my mind and walked to Derek’s car. A voice from the shadows startled me.

  “Hey!”

  I turned. In the space between the buildings, a dark shape lurked. My blood froze. I glanced back at the bookstore. The sight of uniformed police moving purposefully about inside calmed my nerves to a degree, as did the flashing lights of their police cars outside.

  I now noticed that Jerry had parked in the street, blocking me in. Great, now I’d have to ask him to move his vehicle.

  “Hey!” A shadowy arm waved for me to come closer.

  I remained where I was. “Can I help you?” I strained to see into the shadows. All I could make out was a tall, lean man in a short denim coat. His hair hung over his ears.

  “What’s going on in there?” There was a whispery, raspy tone to his voice, as if his vocal cords had been rubbed with sandpaper.

  “There’s been an accident,” I said. I wasn’t sure if I should say more. Especially to a stranger.

  He bobbed his head, and his shoulders moved with it. “Yeah, accident.” He took a couple of steps until he could see into the front of the store at an angle. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  I swallowed hard. “You’d have to ask the police that. They’re here, you know. I’m sure they’d like to talk to you.” I turned my head toward the police cars in case there was any way he might have missed them. Their blinking lights lit up the quiet street. “Who are you, anyway? What are you—” I turned back to my mysterious visitor.

  He was gone.

  As more vehicles arrived, including Greeley’s big black hearse—And
rew Greeley’s the local mortician and medical examiner—I asked a passing officer if he would mind getting the chief to move his car so I could go home.

  The sooner, the better. The police officer came back out from the bookstore a moment later jingling some keys and moved the car himself. I thanked him and headed for home, but not before checking the backseat for lurking passengers. I’d seen scary old movies before. I knew what to look for. Fortunately, I had no stray riders.

  Back at Birds & Bees, I hurried inside—being certain to lock the door behind me—and up to our apartment. Derek was on the sofa, his stocking feet atop the coffee table, watching a movie as I burst in and bolted the door.

  He straightened. “Where are the books?” His brow furrowed as he looked at me. “Everything okay, Amy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Worse,” I answered, hanging my purse on a hook on the wall behind the door. I flopped down onto the couch beside him. “I saw a dead body.”

  “A dead—”

  I grabbed his hand as if to hold on for dear life. “A dead body.” I squeezed Derek’s fingers so hard he yelped. “And it was Mason. Mason Livingston.”

  I didn’t know if it was the thought of Mason dead or the memory of Rose Smith standing over the body and calmly declaring that she had murdered him or both, but I suddenly broke down in tears.

  Derek wrapped his arms around me and let me cry.

  After several minutes of nestling, I went to the bathroom for some tissues and to freshen up. When I returned, Derek had made us chamomile tea. I took a cup gratefully and snuggled up beside him once more.

  “Are you ready to talk about it?” He melted a spoonful of honey from Quiles Apiary into each of our mugs.

  “I think so,” I said between sips.

  He patted my knee. “Tell me what happened.”

  “When I got to the bookstore, the door was open. I called Rose. I didn’t see anybody.” I hesitated, collecting my thoughts. “When I got farther inside, I could see that Mason was seated alone at the table where he had been speaking and signing books. There was—” I swallowed hard. “There was a pair of scissors . . .” My hand went to my neck. Derek eyed me intently. “Sticking out of Mason’s neck.”