To Kill a Hummingbird

by J. R. Ripley

  “Oh, yeah.” Paul bobbed his head. “Kind of mousy, short hair?” He was dressed for jogging in a pair of red running shorts, a white T-shirt, and colorful, fancy sneakers.

  “That’s the one.”

  “What about them?”

  I scooped coffee into the filter basket, filled the carafe with water, and prayed for coffee soon. “They were in your biergarten drinking together the other night.”

  “Good.” He grabbed a powdered doughnut from a bag on the counter and bit in. “I’m always happy for the business.”

  “Did you happen to hear what they were talking about?”

  He shook his head, raining powder sugar from his lips to the floor. “I can’t say that I did. I said hello to Violet, but she pretty much gave me the cold shoulder.”

  “You poor boy.” I grabbed a couple of mugs.

  “None for me, thanks.” He patted his belly. “I don’t like to run on a full stomach.” He grabbed another mini doughnut from the open bag and held it lightly with two fingers. “Are we done here?” He glanced at his fancy watch. Apparently I was cutting into his jogging time.

  “One more thing. Did you see Frank Duvall with them?”

  Paul furrowed his brow. “The farmer guy? Always wears dungarees?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, I think he was with them. He didn’t stay long though. Speaking of which, I’m out of here.”

  “Busy day?”

  He grinned enigmatically. “You might say I’ve got a big idea brewing.”

  I rolled my eyes in response to the lame pun and showed Paul the door. He had left a trail of powdered sugar in his wake.

  I grabbed the broom and dustpan and was sweeping up when my mother joined me. “Good morning, Mom.” I set the broom and dustpan back in the coat closet and planted a firm kiss on her cheek. “Coffee?”

  “Thanks, dear.” Mom grabbed the bag of mini doughnuts and dropped it on the kitchen table. “I see you found the doughnuts I brought home from the market.”

  “Paul found them.” I rinsed my hands in the sink and dried them on the dish towel. “I’m in charge of cleaning up his mess.”

  Mom laughed and accepted the coffee mug I handed her.

  “Got any plans today?”

  “Nothing special.”

  I sat across from her and smiled. “How about whipping up another batch of your famous Barbara’s Bird Bars?”

  She cocked her head in my direction as she reached for a doughnut. Mom knows she should lay off the sweets but finds treats like doughnuts irresistible. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course I’m serious.” I reached into the bag and pulled out two for myself. I found them quite irresistible myself and wanted to get my share before they were all gone. “We only had four bars left at the end of the day yesterday.”

  I bit a doughnut in half and swallowed, washing it down with coffee. “I think you’ve got a hit on your hands.”

  Mom chuckled. “Please, you’re almost as bad as Kim.” Mom swept a pile of powdered sugar from the kitchen table into her palm. “Did you know she spent at least an hour yesterday afternoon researching commercial kitchens?”

  I laughed. “That sounds like Kim. Speaking of which—” I glanced at the kitchen clock. “I suppose I should go to work for a change.”

  “Couldn’t hurt once in a while,” joked my mother. She stood and twisted the bag shut and sealed it with a twist tie. “And I’ll see what I can do about baking a fresh batch of bars.” She frowned. “I might need a trip to the store though. I’m not sure I have everything I need.”

  I grabbed my purse at the door. “I can give you a lift later, if you like?”

  “That’s okay. I’ll call Anita or Ben.”

  “Ben’s out of town with Derek.”

  “That’s right. I’d almost forgotten. No matter. If Anita can’t go, I’ll ride the bus.”

  “The bus?”

  “I enjoy it,” Mom said. “I meet the most interesting people that way.”

  “Okay,” I replied, opening the apartment door, “but if you change your mind, let me know.”

  I headed downstairs and found Kim had already opened the doors. A customer was idling spinning a carousel holding bird-related greeting cards.

  I picked up my binoculars from behind the counter and went to the front window to see how the birding day was shaping up. Several hummingbirds flitted from feeder to feeder, a cardinal ate leisurely from my pole feeder, two towhees pecked at the grass, and a pigeon was weaving in and out of traffic looking for scraps. So far, so good.

  “You’re not going to like this.”

  I turned, binoculars still pressed to my eyes, bringing Kim in big and sharp.

  She hung up the phone behind the sales counter and glanced at our sole customer.

  “What won’t I like?”

  Kim’s face was ashen. “That was my friend from the hospital.” She frowned. “Will you stop looking at me through those?” She kept her voice low and motioned for me to come closer.

  “What’s happened?” I lowered my glasses, crossed the distance between us, and leaned over the counter. “Has Frank Duvall taken a turn for the worse?”

  Kim pulled a hand through her ponytail. “You could say that.” She repeated the process. “He’s dead.”

  I dropped the binoculars. “Darn!”

  I picked up the binocs and inspected them carefully. They didn’t appear to have been damaged. The frames and lenses seemed to have survived intact.

  Frank Duvall, on the other hand, hadn’t survived at all.

  * * *

  I arrived early at the police station, wanting to stay in Jerry’s good graces—it was quarter till twelve, which was tons early in my book. I had been summoned by Chief Kennedy to come make a more detailed statement regarding what I had or hadn’t seen and done the day that I had discovered Duvall’s comatose body at the farmers market.

  I waved to Officer Reynolds.

  Dan Sutton was nowhere to be found. Too bad. Kim had made me pinkie swear not to say a word to him about our conversation, but I had been hoping to quiz him about their relationship in general terms—try to get a sense of his feelings for my best friend. It would have to wait.

  Anita sat at her desk in the corner, talking to someone on the telephone. Judging by her body language, it was nothing urgent in nature.

  To my surprise, Jerry was speaking with Cara Siskin. He took a quick look at me over her shoulder but continued talking to the publicist who nodded from time to time. She wore a white dress and red flats. A strand of rose-colored pearls hung around her pale neck.

  When she turned to leave, she arched her finely shaped right eyebrow at me by way of greeting but remained mum. Speaking of mums, she was wearing that flowery perfume of hers again.

  Jerry motioned to me. “Come on back, Simms.”

  I wiggled my fingers Anita’s way and mouthed a hello before taking a seat across from the chief.

  I craned my neck and watched Cara Siskin as she headed for daylight. “What did she want?”

  “She didn’t want anything. I wanted her statement.”

  “You think she was somehow involved in Frank Duvall’s death?”

  “What do you know about Duvall’s death?” The chief pointed a finger at me. “How did you even know he was dead?”

  There was no sense in lying. I had nothing to hide, at least, in regard to my knowledge of Frank’s passing. “One of Kim’s friends works at the hospital. She mentioned it to Kim.”

  Jerry frowned as he said, “And Kim mentioned it to you. This town is full of blabbermouths.”

  I shrugged. He wasn’t wrong.

  Jerry shuffled some papers from his chair to his desk. “Bloody mess around here.” He glared at the officer across the room like it was his fault, then sat. He glanced at the sheet on top of the pile. “Mason Livingston’s body was flown back to Texas this morning for burial.”

  “I’m happy to hear that. He must have some family to handle matters, see
that he gets a decent ceremony.”

  “A couple of cousins in Dallas.”

  “Have you learned anything about Mason’s past that might have led to his death?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Did you know he was going through a messy divorce?” At least that was the unsubstantiated gossip I’d been fed.

  Jerry rolled his eyes. “Texas to North Carolina is a long ways to go to stick a pair of scissors in a man’s neck.”

  “In other words, you’ve come up empty.”

  Jerry smiled enigmatically. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Oh?”

  “Let’s just say I’m looking into some things.” He paused and smiled with evident satisfaction. “And things are going my way.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  Jerry laced his fingers and studied me. “There is the divorce, sure, but there’s some other stuff, too. Other people.” His eyes were a wall of secrets. “Did you know that your professor friend has been accused of plagiarism?”

  I admitted I did. “Nothing was proven. And I think it poor form to speak ill of a dead man.”

  “Okay, but there are some other matters, too,” Jerry said testily.

  “Such as?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.” Jerry’s jaw worked back and forth. “I also found some sealed records. I’m trying to get a court order.”

  I pinched my eyebrows. This was real news. “That sounds serious.”

  “We’ll see, I hope.” He leaned in. “It’s got to do with some minor stuff. That much I know for certain.” He reached into a lower drawer and pulled out a form. “Let’s fill out your statement concerning yesterday morning. I’ve got a lot going on here.”

  “Fine, but before I do, did you know that Violet Wilcox from AM Ruby is from Texas?”

  “So is the former president,” replied Jerry, tapping his finger against the form. “Shall I put out an APB on him?”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” I muttered. I took a look at the form, snatched a pen from his desk, and began filling it in.

  “There’s really not much to tell, you know,” I said, glancing at the chief as I gathered my thoughts. “What do you need my statement for anyway? People get sick all the time, even in public. It may not be pretty, but so it goes. Mister Duvall was already on the ground of his stall when I got there.” I scratched the inside of my elbow. “It’s not like he was murdered or anything.

  “No?” Jerry looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

  My eyes grew wide. “Do they know what killed him?”

  “Duvall was intentionally poisoned,” Jerry explained. “And it was in the coffee he drank.”

  “Are you sure? Isn’t there any chance that it could have been accidental food poisoning?”

  “Reasonably certain. Based on what the lab and doctors have told us so far, this wasn’t the kind of poison you’d get from eating any of your basic foods. And Duvall hadn’t eaten anything, not even the food he’d brought with him to the market.”

  I nodded. I remembered the uneaten breakfast sandwich and apple. “So it was definitely the coffee.”

  Jerry nodded. “It seems somebody laced it, all right. We’ll know for sure soon enough.”

  “Wouldn’t he have noticed that the taste was off?”

  “Alice, his wife, says he liked his coffee strong and sickly sweet. There’s a good chance he noticed nothing amiss.” Jerry paused meaningfully. “Until it was too late, that is. I’m told it’s a nasty way to go. Painful, vomiting, diarrhea, cramps.”

  I recalled how bad Frank had looked lying there. “What was it exactly? What did the killer use? Rat poison?”

  He frowned. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Fine. Tell me this, Jerry. If it wasn’t an accident, somebody poisoned him on purpose. Why would somebody do that?”

  “Well, we know it wasn’t for money. He had ten grand in his pocket.”

  I whistled. That was a lot of birdseed.

  “As for the who . . .” He left the sentence hanging in the air like a tantalizing grub baiting a bluebird.

  “Yes?”

  He only grinned and changed gears. “I hear that you and Duvall got into a bit of a shouting match two nights ago.”

  “Who told you that?” I knew Mom would never have snitched.

  “Some witnesses at the biergarten next door heard arguing. One of them saw you and Frank outside Birds and Bees.”

  “Frank was shouting. I was trying to get him to leave me alone.” I stiffened. “You think I poisoned Frank?”

  “Relax, Simms. I don’t think you’d poison Frank—or anybody else for that matter.” He paused and chuckled softly. “You might just henpeck them to death though.”

  I fumed but kept my lips shut.

  Jerry pointed to the paper. “Now write.”

  I wrote.

  As I did, Jerry continued the third degree. “Did you notice anyone in particular around the farmers’ market yesterday morning?”

  “Do you mean anybody who shouldn’t have been there? That sort of thing?” I was still seething from his comments.

  “Sure,” he said slowly. “Or somebody lingering around Frank’s stall.”

  I froze, pen in hand, and looked at Jerry. “What are you asking, Jerry? If I saw somebody poison Frank?”

  Jerry sucked in his gut, then let it back out. There was only so much pressure one torso could take. He ignored my question and asked, “Did you happen to notice Mister Mulligan?”

  “Pack Mulligan?” I pulled a face. “Yes, I saw him. I saw lots of folks, men and women. Even a few children. I saw some pretty jewelry, too. Oh, and I talked to a kid delivering lettuce.”

  Jerry nodded. “Yeah, I already got his statement. He mentioned that the two of you talked.” Jerry watched me closely as he added, “He also happened to see you pull up one side of Duvall’s tent and sneak inside.”

  “I wasn’t sneaking!”

  “You weren’t exactly sashaying in the front entrance for all the world to see.”

  I slammed the pen on his desk, leaving an ink mark that I hoped he wouldn’t notice. “The stall wasn’t open yet.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t have gone poking around inside.” He glared at the fresh blue stain on his desk, wet his thumb, and attempted to wipe it out. No such luck.

  “If I hadn’t, Duvall could have died right there!”

  We stared at each other for a minute. Jerry broke the silence. “Where was Mister Mulligan when you saw him?”

  “You mean the night Mason was murdered?”

  Jerry creased his brow. “Excuse me? We’re talking about the morning you found Frank.”

  “Of course we are. That’s what I meant.” I could feel my face turn bright red.

  Jerry stilled my writing hand. “Out with it, Simms. I know that face. You saw Pack Mulligan at Bookarama the night Livingston was killed. Isn’t that right?”

  I swallowed hard and let out my breath. There was no use lying any longer. “Yes.”

  “Aha!”

  “But he wasn’t in the store,” I said loudly and quickly. “He-he was outside the store. And all he did was ask me or tell me or—no, I think he asked me if somebody was dead.”

  There was a long, scary silence as Chief Kennedy gave me the evil eye for about a million years before spitting out, “Why didn’t you tell me this straight away?”

  “I forgot!” I pulled my hand free. “That’s all. I forgot.” I rubbed my fingers. “Besides, I didn’t think it was important.” Pack Mulligan seemed scary at the time but so harmless in retrospect.

  “You didn’t think it was important?” Jerry was half out of his chair now. “A man was murdered, had a pair of scissors stuck in his throat, and you didn’t think seeing a man outside the scene of the murder was important?”

  If my face was red, Jerry’s was redder.

  “Now, Jerry,” called Anita from her corner, “you mind your blood pre
ssure.”

  He opened his mouth to reply to Anita, then clamped it shut again, having apparently thought better of it. Judging by the look on her face, he’d made the right choice.

  His fists opened and closed like twin pistons. After another moment, the chief fell back into his chair. “Ms. Simms,” he said in a forced calm, “we will amend your statement regarding the night of Mason Livingston’s murder some other time.

  “Right now,” he pressed his thumb into the desk, “please, tell me exactly where you saw Packard Mulligan . . .” Apparently the calm could only last so long because he was practically shouting when he added, “the morning Duvall was poisoned!”

  I was about to say something sarcastic but realized I had no good reason to except that I was mad. Besides, Anita was shaking her head at me in warning. From the corner of my eye, I saw Officer Reynolds doing the same.

  I said evenly, “Chief Kennedy, I saw Mister Mulligan, Pack Mulligan, setting up his egg stand.”

  Jerry steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips several times, in and out, in and out. “Which is only a few tents down from the Duvall tent,” Jerry said.

  Numerous other merchants’ stalls were as closer or closer. It was a bustling farmers market. “Why all the questions about Pack Mulligan?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve taken a sudden interest in his whereabouts and activities at the time in question. More so since you say you saw him outside Bookarama the other night.”

  “So you don’t suspect the Smiths anymore?”

  “I suspect the daughter’s got a screw loose.” He tapped a finger against his skull. “I told her if she ever eggs anybody’s house in this town again, birdhouse or otherwise, I’d lock her up for thirty days. I think she got the message.”

  “I’m sure she did. Personally, I’m not convinced Pack Mulligan is guilty of anything.” I folded my arms over my chest defiantly. Something about Jerry always made me want to defy him. “Except being different,” I quipped, remembering Karl Vogel’s remarks.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “What about Mason’s laptop? Did you find anything of use on it?”

  “Not a darn thing. And believe me, we went all through that computer.”

  “Mason, Violet Wilcox and Cara Siskin were seen talking at Truckee’s the other day. Frank, too.”