To Kill a Hummingbird

by J. R. Ripley

  We did intend to have an outdoor presence along with dozens of other street vendors; we’d be selling my mom’s surprise hit, Barbara’s Bird Bars, along with other food and bird-watching and feeding products.

  To my surprise, the Birds & Brewsmobile that I had found myself a reluctant partner in, thanks to the machinations of my mother and the business owner next door, could prove to be a winner. We were planning on setting up the trailer, which had been built to look like a giant red birdhouse, along one of the streets surrounding the town square.

  That former camping trailer still gave me the heebie-jeebies, considering that it had once belonged to a friend of mine who’d met an untimely end. Buying it had not been my idea. That idea had been my mother and Paul Anderson’s doing. Now I was stuck with it and doing my best to make the most of the situation—and bury the unpleasant associated memories.

  Paul Anderson, my neighbor and now business partner, had taken care of the business permits. Cousin Riley had remodeled the interior of the trailer, which had once served as my friend’s home away from home, into a proper mobile storefront for Birds & Bees and Paul’s business, Brewer’s Biergarten. We’d even sprung for a fancy solar-lighted sign reading: Birds & Brewsmobile, which Cousin Riley had affixed to the roof.

  “I’m pooped,” said Steve. In his early fifties, Steve was one of the youngest of our group. He was tan and fit with coppery hair swept back dramatically. His eyes were painted bunting blue. Having come dressed in white slacks and a raspberry red sweater, however, he might have been having a negative impact on our bird sightings.

  Birds are visual creatures and communicate a lot with color. Red and white are danger signals to birds as they are to other animals. Warning signs of trouble, like the flash of a bird’s white tail feathers or a scared deer’s white tail. The best way to see birds or any other wildlife in a natural setting was to blend in. That meant wearing neutral colors.

  Steve was a friend of Otelia Newsome. He works as a mechanic at Nesmith’s, the gas station on the edge of town. The next closest stations were out along the highway. I didn’t know him well, having only a nodding acquaintance from seeing him around the gas station when pumping gas.

  “I’m starved.” Otelia looked meaningfully across the town square, her eyes on Jessamine’s Kitchen, our planned lunch stop. She’d come with Steve.

  I looked at my watch. It was a little early, but I could see that my flock’s attention was beginning to stray. “Fine. Let’s eat. Besides, if we dine now, we can beat the lunch crowd.”

  Normally, I liked to start my bird walks early in the morning. That was the best time to spot birds as they busied themselves in search of breakfast, but in an effort to appease the group, we’d picked a mid-morning start with lunch afterward. I had reconnoitered the proposed walk the day before and was confident we’d see plenty of birds.

  We had, despite the time of day and Steve Dykstra’s clothing choices.

  Using my mobile phone, I snapped a quick photo of the chickadee in the tree for later inspection.

  We cut across the town square with Steve and Otelia leading the way. Tiffany waved to Aaron Maddley, who was working out of his stall at the farmers market. Their relationship seemed to be developing into something beyond casual dating. Good for them.

  Aaron, dressed in blue jeans and a gray T-shirt, was selling farm-fresh arugula, lettuce, radishes, and other fall vegetables under his tent. Besides being good at working the earth, Aaron was good with his hands. He provided me with handmade bluebird houses and other nesting boxes for the store.

  “Go on without me,” Tiffany said with a big smile on her face. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”

  I smiled back. “Okay. Say hi to Aaron for me.”

  My relationship with Aaron was still a bit strained. He was having a hard time letting go of the accusations I’d once wrongly leveled at him. When we’d first met, there may have been some chemistry between us. But that shipped had sailed. I was happy for him and Tiffany. I was even happier for me and Derek Harlan, the handsome and steady man I’d been getting closer to since returning to Ruby Lake to open Birds & Bees and be nearer to Mom and the rest of my family.

  I couldn’t get much nearer to Mom. We shared an apartment above Birds & Bees.

  My flock and I waited for traffic to clear, then moved as a group across the street to Jessamine’s Kitchen, a homey Southern-style restaurant that had recently opened. I had called Jessamine Jeffries yesterday to let her know our group would be coming in.

  A high school girl I knew greeted us at the entrance. “Hello, Ms. Simms. You’re early.” She had a laminated menu in her right hand.

  “Hi, Lulu. It won’t be a problem, will it?” Lulu Nowell was a chipper young blonde who worked weekends, and occasionally after school on weekdays when her strict mother and father would let her, to pick up some spending money.

  “Not at all. Jess has your table all ready.”

  “Great.”

  The layout of Jessamine’s Kitchen was simple, and the décor was as cozy as the food. The furnishings included Shaker-style tables and chairs. Blue-and-white checkered tablecloths covered the tables. In the evening, the wait staff placed beeswax candles on the tabletops in small cut-glass bowls shaped like tulips. The floor was old pine, reclaimed from a local barn that had been torn down. The local lumberyard sells tons of the stuff.

  There was a black cast-iron woodstove near the center of the room, though I hadn’t seen it lit yet. With winter around the corner, I was sure it wouldn’t be long.

  I followed Lulu. Several tables in front of the window overlooking the town square had been pushed together. Two vases near each end of the joined tables held fresh bouquets of sunny yellow coreopsis.

  I took a seat at the far side. Floyd and Karl opted for spots against the window, looking inward.

  “That sun is bright,” Karl said. “Hurts my eyes.” He made a show of removing his eyeglasses and vigorously rubbing his eyes with his fists.

  Floyd agreed. “It is kind of bright.” I had a feeling both men were more interested in having a good vantage from which to view Jessamine than they were in protecting their eyes from the sun’s rays.

  Steve held out a chair for Otelia facing the window. Sally sat at the opposite end of the table. Kim squeezed in beside her, and John Moytoy sat beside me.

  A flamboyantly dressed man and woman, who appeared to be in their late fifties or early sixties, sat at the small round table nearest us. Their plates were piled high with fried chicken and hush puppies. My mouth watered just looking at them.

  A lanky waiter, approaching forty by my guess, came to the table and took our drink orders. Karl and Floyd ordered beers, and the rest of us settled on a shared endless pitcher of iced mint tea.

  As the waiter set down our drinks, Tiffany came hurrying in. “Sorry I’m late!” Floyd scooted over, and she took a seat beside him.

  “Have some tea.” I filled Tiffany’s glass.

  She pulled off her sunglasses and unbuttoned her green sweater. “Aaron was telling me all about the work he’s been doing on his truck.” She jiggled her brow. “The man about talked my ear off.”

  “Is he having a problem with it?” bellowed Steve from across the table. Steve wasn’t much for whispering, a trait I was trying to instill in him if he was going to go bird-watching with us. Birds have a way of disappearing if you go thrashing about and talking at the top of your lungs. “Maybe I can help!”

  “Thanks, Steve, but there’s nothing at all wrong with it,” called Tiffany from the other end of the table. “He’s getting it ready for the car show.” She picked up her napkin and unfolded it. “Polishing thingies, tuning the engine, replacing parts.” She laid the white cloth napkin in her lap. “You name it, he’s doing it.”

  “Don’t tell me Aaron is all caught up in the car show this year, too,” I groaned.

  Tiff smiled my way. “Oh, yeah. Big time. I can’t believe it. Just my luck, I go from being married to a car dealer to
dating a car nut!” She laughed as she said it.

  “Hey,” Steve said, “I resemble that remark.” He grinned. “I’ve been parading my car every year in the car show. It’s fun.” He picked up his iced tea. “Besides, we raise a lot of money for charity.”

  The stranger at the next table barked out a laugh. He leaned over and touched my arm. “I can’t help hearing you all talking about the car show,” he said loudly. “That’s what me and Belle come for, isn’t it, doll?” He winked at his wife, who beamed in return. “That and to see a man about a car.”

  His doll nodded. “Like the man says, I’m Belle,” the woman said with a quick smile. Her unnaturally orange hair was tucked neatly atop her narrow head. She wore a yellow knit sweater and jeans. “This handsome devil with me is my husband, Emmett.”

  The handsome devil in question laughed uproariously. “Emmett Lancaster,” he said, thrusting out a hand. We shook.

  “Pleased to meet you both,” I replied. His fingers were icy cold, probably from the soda his hand had recently been wrapped around. His cheeks were puffy and pink, and he had a cleft chin. His eyes were pulled close to his bulbous nose under which grew the beginnings of a sparse mustache. He wore a baggy tweed jacket. Its mottled white-and-brown pattern reminded me of a wood thrush’s belly.

  “Are you local?” I asked. The pair didn’t look familiar, and I was certain I’d remember if I had seen the two of them before.

  “Nope.” Emmett tugged at the linen napkin tucked into his collar. “We drove up from Trenton. That’s out east. We love cars and car shows. Don’t we, Belle?” He reached under the table and patted his wife’s knee.

  “That’s right,” agreed Belle. “We go to as many as we can.”

  “Have you got a classic car yourselves?” asked Floyd.

  Emmett puffed out his chest. “Do I have a car?” He laughed loudly. “Hear that, Belle? He wants to know if we have a car?” He laughed once more. “I’ve got a car all right.” He laced his fingers over his belly. “And before we leave your little town, I expect to have another.”

  Steve coughed and reached for his iced tea. John and I looked across the table at one another and suppressed our grins.

  “You hoping to buy a car from one of the folks showing at the festival?” asked Karl.

  Emmett shook his head. “Nope. Not that I won’t keep my eyes open for the right car at the right price.” He shook his head. “No. I’ve arranged to meet a man named Hernando offering a car on one of the classic car websites.”

  “Em’s been drooling over that car for weeks,” added Belle.

  “Hernando?” Karl pulled at chin. “Can’t say as I know the man.” He looked around at our group, and we all shook our heads in the negative.

  Emmett chuckled. “Yeah, like Belle says, I guess I have been overanxious about this deal. We’ve been dickering back and forth over the internet for weeks. We finally agreed on the price. Now all I have to do is make sure the car checks out and is everything Hernando promises she is.” He leaned toward me. “And it better check out. I sent the man a ten thousand–dollar deposit.”

  Floyd whistled softly. “That’s a lot of money for a car you haven’t seen.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Emmett’s wife. “But that’s my husband.” She grabbed her coffee cup. “He’s always been the impulsive type. We got married after courting for only two weeks!” She brought the cup to her lips and smiled at her husband as she drank.

  “What model car you buying?” demanded Karl.

  Emmett smiled enigmatically. “Oh, no,” he said with a wagging finger. “I can’t tell you that. You might just try to outbid me!”

  I didn’t think there was much chance of that. “What car are you driving now?”

  “We have a 1939 Oldsmobile Business Coupe,” Emmett said proudly. “I bought her when I was eighteen years old with my very own money. It took me five years and two layers of skin off of these two hands—” he thrust out his hands palms up, and the sleeves of his jacket rode back to reveal a pair of slender, hairy arms, “—to restore her.”

  “I’m not familiar with the model,” Steve said, clearly intrigued.

  “Me either,” admitted Karl.

  “Let me tell you,” began Emmett.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” Belle said with a chuckle. “You’ve done set him off.” She waggled her fork at her husband. “Once you get Emmett cranked up on the subject of his Business Coupe, you’ll like as never get him off it!”

  “Now, now. The man asked,” replied her husband. “It would be rude of me not to answer.” He swirled his cola, sipped through his paper straw, then twisted his chair at angle to our table. “Let me tell you, the Business Coupe was, and still is, a real beauty.

  “She was a favorite of traveling salesmen because of her large trunk and reasonable price.”

  “Yes,” added Belle. “The car has no backseat, but the trunk is big enough to hold an elephant. And seeing how we don’t travel light and Em is a traveling salesman, the Olds is perfect for us.” She removed a tube of red lipstick from a skinny black leather purse on the edge of the table and ran it across her lips.

  “What line are you in?” inquired Steve.

  Emmett shrugged his sloped shoulders. His ginger hair was thinning at the front. “Like Belle says, I’m a salesman. You name it, I’ve sold it.” I noticed a cellophane-wrapped cigar protruding from his pale blue breast pocket.

  Steve worked his lower jaw back and forth. “Would you consider selling the Olds?”

  Emmett barked. “Not for all the corn in Iowa! But if you’d like to see her, come around to the motel. Me and the wife will take you for a ride.”

  “I just might take you up on that,” Steve replied.

  “Great. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” Emmett belted out with a lascivious grin.

  “Good luck with that,” Otelia said. “Steve here won’t even let me see his precious car lately. Says he’s keeping it clean until the parade.”

  Steve’s face turned red as a scarlet tanager. “I spent twenty hours detailing her, Otelia. I’ve got to keep her spick-and-span.”

  She pulled at his sleeve. “I’m just teasing. Steve.”

  Emmett Lancaster turned to his wife. “Ready, doll?”

  Belle tucked her lipstick back in her purse and nodded. Emmett rose and helped her with her chair. He withdrew a fat black wallet from the inside pocket of his sports coat and tossed a few bills on the table. “See ya at the show, folks.” He waved a meaty palm in farewell.

  The smell of fried chicken and gardenias lingered in the hole they’d left.

  Steve watched them maneuver out the door, then dug into his sandwich.

  “Sounds like that fella has a real classic,” Sally said.

  Steve looked put out. “I suppose.”

  “I’ve always admired your car, Steve,” Floyd said, pulling at his mustache. “My pa had a ’42 DeSoto. I wish I had it now.”

  “Well, mine’s not for sale,” Steve said. “I’ve owned her for twenty years and put twenty years of my life into restoring her.”

  “She’s a fine car, all right,” Karl said with a touch of envy. “But me and Floyd have a car of our own that we plan on showing this year. Don’t we, Floyd?”

  Floyd jerked to attention. “We do?”

  “Of course we do.” Karl shook his head. Both men had gray hair, though Karl’s was by far the thicker of the two. “My pal here is a little senile.”

  Karl rubbed his hands together. His gray eyes seemed to say that they held a secret. “Just wait and see what we’ve got. Boy, she is something. I tell you.”

  Karl Vogel and Floyd Withers were retired. Both lived out at Rolling Acres, a senior living center. Karl was the former Town of Ruby Lake chief of police. Floyd was a retired banker who had lost his wife in the past year.

  “Dan’s planning on showing his Firebird, so I feel your pain, Tiffany,” Kim said from across the table.

  “Really?” Tiffany a
ctually looked interested. “What year is it?”

  “It’s a 1980 Firebird Trans Am. He bought it from Robert a few years back as a project car. He gave me a ride in it once. Mostly we take my car or his truck because the Trans Am’s parts are spread around his garage.”

  Tiffany laughed. “If he bought it from my ex, I’m sure project is the right word for it.”

  “What color is it?” asked Steve. “Red?”

  “Black,” answered Kim. “With pinstriping.”

  “A muscle car, eh?” Steve nodded appreciatively. “Well, all I can say is good luck if you think any of you is going to win a ribbon this year.” I sensed some good-natured ribbing in Steve’s voice.

  John turned to me. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a luncheon in which we talked about the birds we had seen this morning?” He riffled through the notebook he’d been carrying on our two-hour walk. John was a fastidious note taker. He’d even added tiny pencil sketches of several of the birds, a sparrow, a mockingbird, and the chickadee.

  “That was the idea.” I shot Karl and Floyd each a behave yourself look.

  “Uh-oh,” Karl said, nudging Floyd with his elbow. “Looks like you’re in trouble.”

  “Me?” gasped Floyd. “What did I do?”

  The former police officer ignored Floyd’s agitation. “You have to admit, Amy, that ’57 Chevy was something.”

  I looked down my nose and across the table. “I barely saw it. I was watching the birds.”

  “Like you always say, Amy,” Karl retorted, “a good birder keeps his or her eyes open for anything, anywhere.” He picked up his beer and drank it half down, then smacked his lips with satisfaction. I wasn’t sure whether that satisfaction was with his beer or with having thrown my own words back in my face.

  Two or, in this case, three could play that game. “I’ll have you know,” I said, folding my arms across my chest and clamping a hand down on each upper arm, “Derek and Paul are also planning to enter a car in the competition this year.”