To Kill a Hummingbird

by J. R. Ripley

  “There’s no law against socializing, Simms. I can’t go arresting people just because they congregate.”

  “No, but you can investigate them.”

  “I know how to do my job,” huffed Jerry. “I don’t need you telling me how to do it. Besides, this case is all but locked up—along with the perpetrator, I might add.”

  Jerry was full of bluster, but whatever cards he was holding, he was confident in how the hand was going to play out.

  “Can I have my books back?”

  “What books?”

  “My copies of Hummingbirds and Their Habits. The ones you confiscated the night of Mason’s murder.”

  “Oh, those.” He waved a hand dismissively.

  “You said they were evidence. If this case is all but locked up as you think, you won’t mind releasing them.” The book would be my last physical reminder of Mason and our friendship. Whatever he’d written on the dedication page for me would be among his last thoughts.

  “As a matter of fact, I don’t need them anymore. That’s why I gave them back to Rose Smith.”

  “Oh,” I said, taken aback. “Great.” I was about to slink away when a deep voice I was certain I knew but shouldn’t have been hearing just then called Officer Reynolds by name.

  “Good afternoon, counselor,” Reynolds replied casually.

  I turned. “Derek!”

  24

  Derek stood at the station entrance in a pin-striped charcoal suit, a cranberry red tie, and shiny black shoes. “What are you doing here?” I rose to greet him. “You said you were going to Charlotte.”

  Derek shifted his black leather briefcase to his left hand and gave me a quick one-armed hug. “I was. I did. Dad’s handling the case solo now.” He swiveled toward Chief Kennedy. “Hello, Chief. I got here as soon as I could. Though I’m not sure what use I can be. I’m not a criminal attorney.”

  “Good afternoon, Mister Harlan. That’s up to you and your client to sort out. All I know is that he wanted to talk to you, and there’s no reason he shouldn’t. I wouldn’t want folks getting the wrong idea and thinking we’re railroading anybody around here.”

  I had no idea what either of them was talking about.

  Jerry glanced at his watch. “You made good time. I hope you weren’t speeding,” he joked, inappropriate as it was at the moment.

  “Now would I do a thing like that? No, I kept it under ninety the whole time.” Derek glanced up the hall toward the holding cells and interview room. “How are you holding up, Amy?”

  “Fine. Does your asking me mean that you heard about Frank Duvall?”

  Derek said yes. “I was informed that he expired in the early hours this morning,” he said soberly. “I also heard you found him unconscious at the farmers market.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I’m going to want to hear all about it later.” He turned his attention back to Jerry. “Now, I’d like to speak to my client, Chief.”

  “Sure, Mister Harlan.” Jerry pulled himself up from his desk and grabbed a folder from a hanging file on the wall behind him next to a hokey picture of himself being sworn into office. “We’ve been expecting you.” He hitched up his trousers. “He’s waiting in the interview room. Follow me.”

  “Derek?” I watched both men in confusion. “What on earth is going on?”

  His lips grazed my cheek. “Like I said, we’ll talk later. It sounds like we both have a lot to share. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you.”

  Jerry stopped at the edge of the hallway leading to the interview room. “Reynolds, see that Simms finishes filling out her statement.”

  “Yes, sir.” Larry’s chair skidded against the floor as he jumped to attention.

  I sat back down in my chair and resumed writing, though my mind was scattered in a million directions. Derek’s sudden arrival seemed to have turned my world upside down.

  Nonetheless, I wrote down everything I could remember, which wasn’t much. Since it was now out in the open, I even included the part about how Frank had come around late the other night and practically threatened me with bodily harm if I didn’t leave him alone and mind my own business in the matter of Mason Livingston’s murder.

  After I’d finished and Jerry and Derek still hadn’t returned, I twisted around and said to Officer Reynolds, “What’s this all about?”

  “All I know is that after talking to the chief, Mister Mulligan asked to talk to Mister Harlan,” Reynolds answered. “I reckon your boyfriend is representing Mister Mulligan in this, too.”

  “Pack?” I leaned sideways, trying to catch a glimpse of the action in the interview room. No luck. The door was shut. “What happened, Larry?”

  Larry looked nervously toward the cells in back. “I’m afraid it’s not my place to say.”

  I made a face at him but let it go. I was sure he didn’t want to get in trouble with his boss. I pointed to the battered suitcase beside Jerry’s desk. “Can I take a look inside? Jerry told me it would be okay if I checked out the flower.”

  Reynolds grinned and tapped a pencil against his desk. “Yeah, he said before that you might ask and to let you.” He waved his hand. “Go ahead. Only the chief said you have to be careful not to damage anything.”

  I raised my hand. “You have my word.”

  He turned back to whatever he was doing at his desk. Apparently I wasn’t very important.

  I knelt on the floor and unlatched the suitcase. Jerry hadn’t been lying—rumpled clothing, socks, underwear, and there in the middle, nestled among it all, was a plastic-wrapped flower with water-absorbent foam around the stalk. I lifted it gently. “It looks like a cardinal flower on steroids.”

  “What’s that?” I hadn’t noticed Reynolds come up from behind. He leaned over my shoulder.

  I waved the flower in the air. “Does Chief Kennedy believe that this is the flower that Frank Duvall was trying to get Mason to endorse?”

  Larry shrugged. “Beats me. A flower’s a flower, right?”

  “It’s pretty, but it doesn’t look like anything special, you think?” I sniffed the flower but smelled nothing through the plastic wrap. I waved it at him. “Give it a whiff. Tell me what you think.”

  “Careful with that.” Reynolds grabbed my hand. “I don’t smell a thing. Should I?”

  Officer Reynolds was as hopeless as Jerry. I laid the flower back in the suitcase and shut it. It certainly could have been the cultivar I’d been hearing so much about. The cardinal flower was very attractive to hummingbirds. Duvall could have developed an even more potent variety. If it was the flower in question, what was it doing in Mason’s suitcase? Had Duvall given it to him? Was it a sample? Proof that the plant existed?

  Using Jerry’s desk as a crutch, I lifted myself up and dusted myself off. As much as I hated to think it, I was acutely aware that there was another reason that the flower could have been in Mason’s suitcase.

  He could have stolen it, and Duvall wanted it back.

  That would explain the falling out the two men had apparently had.

  It was also a really good motive for murder…

  * * *

  “I have a hunch it was Frank Duvall who murdered Mason,” I said as Derek and I shared drinks later in the courtyard of Brewer’s Biergarten. It was only a few days ago that the professor had been entertaining us here with his stories. Now he was gone. How long would it take me to not dwell on such thoughts?

  “Are you forgetting,” Derek said, “that the man you think had the strongest motive for killing Mason Livingston is now lying in the morgue himself?”

  “That does sort of throw a monkey wrench into my theory. I was just so sure.” I frowned and stirred my mango margarita. “Especially after the way he came after me that night. If you had seen the anger, the fear in his eyes . . .”

  “I wish I had been there,” Derek practically growled, mashing his right fist into his left hand. “He’d never try a thing like that again.”

  It made me feel good to know that Derek wanted to protect me, thou
gh it hadn’t been necessary. “Are you forgetting? Frank won’t be bothering anyone ever again.”

  Derek sighed. “So what are we missing?”

  I ran through everything in my mind and came up blank. “Maybe Duvall had a partner?”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “I wish I could.” I picked up the menu. I had a sudden craving for something sweet. Or fatty. Better yet, both. “This is so frustrating.”

  “Believe me,” said Derek, his hands wrapped around his beer, “I’d like nothing better than to have the perfect suspect all wrapped up to hand over to the police.”

  “Unfortunately, it sounds like the police already think they have that.” I brought my glass to my lips and drank slowly, enjoying the salty sweetness.

  “Yeah. Several witnesses saw Mister Mulligan carrying Duvall’s thermos.”

  “That’s pretty incriminating.”

  “Agreed, but it’s also circumstantial.”

  “How does Pack explain it?”

  Derek spread his hands out on the table. “He said he found the thermos on the ground near Duvall’s truck. He recognized it as belonging to Frank. He took it to the market every morning.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “Yes, and Pack told me and the police that he figured that Frank dropped it while he was unloading his truck. He picked it up and carried it over to Duvall’s tent. Duvall was nowhere to be seen, so he left it on one of the tables next to Frank’s brown-bag breakfast.”

  “And he didn’t see Frank after that?”

  Derek shook his head. “Only with the rest of you once the police and EMTs showed up.”

  “Pack only did what seems natural, but it doesn’t look good for him, does it?”

  “Not a bit. And given their history . . .”

  “Whose history?”

  “The Duvalls and the Mulligans. They’re neighbors, you know, but from the way I’ve heard tell, they aren’t all that neighborly. In fact, the two families don’t seem to have ever gotten along much.”

  “You’re right. Now that you say that, their farms are adjacent. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that before.”

  “There’s no reason you should have.”

  “I’m sorry I let slip about seeing Pack outside Bookarama the night of Mason’s murder, Derek. I’ve only made things worse for him.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s the truth, and the truth has to come out. Besides,” he said, patting my hand across the table, “if you’ll remember, even before all this, I suggested that you tell Chief Kennedy about it.”

  “Did Pack say what he was doing in that part of town that night?”

  “Even worse. Pack admits to being at Bookarama that night.”

  “Did he say why?”

  Derek shrugged. “It’s a bookstore. He said he went for books.”

  It was hard to argue with that. “What about the ten thousand dollars that was found on Duvall when he was poisoned?”

  “I heard about that from the chief. He questioned Pack about it, and so did I. Pack denies knowing anything about the money.”

  “And if Pack did know Frank had the money on him and Pack was up to no good, wouldn’t he have taken it?”

  “That’s an excellent point.”

  “Do you think he did it?”

  “Do I think Pack poisoned Frank Duvall and stuck a pair of scissors in Mason Livingston’s neck?”

  “Do you?”

  Derek drummed the table a moment. “No.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “But Chief Kennedy does. In fact, he’s convinced of it.”

  “Why would Pack murder Mason? He didn’t even know him. There’s no connection.”

  “No, but there is with Frank Duvall. The two men were constantly feuding,” explained Derek. “Border disputes, noise complaints, arguing about each other’s dogs, chickens, you name it.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Did you know Frank Duvall is one of the witnesses who claimed to see Pack Mulligan in the vicinity of some of the break-ins we’ve been experiencing?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Chief Kennedy thinks Pack might have killed Mason hoping to frame Duvall for the murder.”

  “That’s crazy!”

  Derek continued. “When that didn’t happen, the chief says, Pack may have decided to get rid of Duvall for good.”

  “This whole thing is a nightmare.” I tugged at my hair. Little could I have known that my former professor coming to town for a book signing could lead to murder and mayhem. “What happens next?” The waitress came by, and I ordered a slice of chocolate-orange cheesecake.

  “Would you care for anything, sir?” she inquired of Derek.

  “He’s sharing with me,” I replied for him.

  Derek looked at the young waitress. “Like the lady said.”

  She left to place our order.

  I grinned at Derek. “I need comfort, but if I eat an entire slice, I won’t be comfortable in my pants.”

  “Oh?” He wriggled his brow. “Would you be more comfortable out of them?”

  I felt my mouth go dry and my forehead pink. Fortunately the waitress arrived quickly with my dessert. “Thanks,” I gulped. I slid the plate to the middle of the table and handed Derek a fork. “Dig in.”

  We ate in companionable silence. When the slice had all but disappeared but for the graham cracker outer crust, I said, “Go ahead.” I leaned back. “You finish it.”

  “Are you sure?” I nodded, and Derek polished it off without having to be told twice.

  “What happens next?” I said, downing the remains of my margarita and switching to ice water.

  “You mean for Mister Mulligan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m glad you asked.”

  “Oh?”

  Derek ran his napkin across his lips and tucked it under the edge of the dessert plate. “First, I’ve arranged for him to consult with a criminal attorney from Raleigh, a buddy of mine. He’s excellent.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “I’ve also begun the bail process.”

  “Do you think he’ll manage to get released?”

  “I’m pretty confident. Did you know Mister Mulligan, Pack, has never been out of the county?”

  “Wow.”

  “I think we can convince a judge that he’s no flight risk.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Of course,” Derek said, raising his empty mug, the universal sign for a refill, which our waitress was quick to do.

  After she’d gone away, Derek went on. “As I was saying, Pack also has his business to run. He can’t do that if he’s in jail.”

  “Right, the egg farm.”

  “He needs somebody to take care of all those chickens.”

  I pressed my finger into the crumbs on the plate and licked. “Right, the chickens.”

  “I told him we’d do it.”

  “Sure, we’ll do it.” I locked eyes with Derek. “Wait. What?”

  25

  “Derek!” I exclaimed. “I don’t know a thing about chickens!”

  “Chicken seed, birdseed, it’s all the same, right? How hard can it be?”

  I goggled my eyes at him. “It can be very hard. I watch birds. From a distance mostly. I don’t raise chickens.” I planted my elbows on the table, regretting that I hadn’t ordered a second margarita. “And I don’t sell chicken feed.”

  “Don’t worry,” Derek said lightly. “I’ll give you a hand.”

  I turned up the corner of my lip. “You’d better. How many chickens are we talking about?”

  “Not many.” Derek called for the check and laid his credit card on the table. “Two or three hundred.”

  “Two or three hundred!”

  “It’s only for a day or two,” he said with a chuckle.

  “A day or two?”

  The waitress ran Derek’s card, and he returned it to his wallet before signing the receipt.

  “One day.�
�� He held up a finger. “Two tops. Pack will be out on bail by then.”

  “If he’s not,” I warned, rising from the table, “beware.” I grabbed my purse. “Because somebody’s going to have to come bail me out for murdering you!” I said with a wink and a grin as we made our way out of Brewer’s.

  Derek walked me next door to Birds & Bees. Mom and Esther were rocking on the front porch. I noticed that Cousin Riley had trimmed the bush Frank Duvall had hidden behind down to about waist height.

  “Good evening, ladies.” Derek waved to them.

  “Care for some lemonade?” Mom asked.

  Derek patted his belly. “Thanks, but I’m filled to the brim. Another time.”

  Conscious of Mom and Esther’s eyes on us, I gave Derek a hug. “Good night, Derek.”

  “Good night?” He looked taken aback. “How about a movie? Your choice.”

  I shook my head. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m exhausted and really need some rest.”

  He pouted. “Are you sure?”

  “Sorry,” I said, planting a kiss on his nose. “You’re cute. But we have to be up with the chickens remember?”

  Derek groaned. “Right. Pick you up at five?”

  “I’ll meet you there. I have some errands to run afterward.” I was planning on making the rounds of some of the retirement centers where we had set up birdfeeders for our Seeds for Seniors program.

  “Okay. When I get back to my apartment, I’ll email you the instruction sheet for the chickens in case you want to study up on them.”

  “Instructions?”

  “Yes, Mister Mulligan was quite specific as to what needs to be done.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret this?”

  He grinned. “Think of this as your good deed for the day.”

  “Can I at least get a dozen free eggs out of this?”

  “I’m sure Mister Mulligan won’t mind one bit.”

  We kissed once more, and Derek climbed into his Civic. He rolled down the passenger side window and beckoned me. “If you’re there before me, Pack says there’s a spare key in the bucket of the wishing well.”

  Before I could begin to form a reply, Derek drove off, leaving me alone with Esther and Mom.