The crowd “oohed” appreciatively, and Knapp’s face brightened. Maybe he figured all was not lost.
“It’s a documentary series of exploits in the bird world, called Avian Adventures. It’s been in the works for a while.” Here he shot a pointed look at Saxby. “As we say in the business, the first episode is in the can. The series is expected to air sometime next month.”
Knapp looked at Saxby as if daring a response.
Saxby smiled as if he’d gotten an accolade. “Well, you know what they say, great minds think alike.”
“My team views this as art, not sport,” countered Knapp. Switching off the microphone, he spoke directly to Saxby.
Rachel strained to hear.
Knapp’s face had lightened to Bing cherry red, but he still looked mad. His movements were choppy. His voice sounded angry. If only she could make out the words.
In front of her, one woman punched another in the arm and said, “Did you hear that? He has the ivory-billed woodpecker on film!”
“Did he say that?” asked Rachel.
Saxby’s voice carried over the crowd. “You’re the one who’s been scooped, Knapp. My footage will be live, and with plenty of witnesses.”
Rachel leaned forward and tapped on the woman’s shoulder. “What did Knapp say?”
The woman turned, looking surprised. “He accused Guy Saxby of stealing his idea about the television show, and then he told Saxby if he thought he was going to show this crowd a rare bird it was too bad because he’d been scooped.” She paused to listen, and then added, “Saxby said—”
“Thanks.” Rachel turned sideways in her seat. The crowd had deteriorated into a jabbering mass.
“Let’s go,” she whispered to the others, “before this crowd turns into a mob.”
Rachel took up the rear, and the four of them pushed their way to the door. The crowd rushed the stage, and Knapp slid back into the shadows. Saxby held court.
“This is great,” muttered Lark as they exited the theater. “Just great. We’re all going to look like fools on national television. Thanks a lot, Rae.”
“Come on, Lark, it’s going to be fun,” said Dorothy. “We’ll be famous, and maybe we’ll win some money for Raptor House.”
Lark lit up at that.
It had been nearly two years since Rachel had visited the bird rehab center her aunt Miriam had started in Elk Park. She had turned the venture over to the park service, and Eric, Lark’s boyfriend, ran the place now. Still, Rachel knew they could use the money.
“That would make Eric happy,” said Lark.
“Plus, Guy practically promised we’d see a special bird,” continued Dorothy. Excitement raised her voice to high pitch. “I’ll bet you dollars to donuts he means the ivory-billed woodpecker.”
Rachel filled them in on what the woman in front of her had said. “If she’s right, Knapp has it on film. I’ll bet that’s why Becker changed his mind about the trade.”
Dorothy’s face fell. “Which completely alters the suspect list.”
“But if Knapp has it an film, why not just come out with it?” asked Cecilia.
“Maybe he’s waiting until Saturday night,” said Lark.
“Or maybe he doesn’t have it,” said Rachel.
The others looked at her quizzically.
“You heard him say he shoots film,” explained Rachel. “He would have to send it out for processing. Any shop on this island would have to ship it out to a lab.”
“If that’s the case, he won’t even know what kind of pictures he has until the film comes back,” said Lark. “That would explain his caution. Right now he can’t even prove they ever saw the bird.”
“I’ll bet Guy knows where the bird is,” said Dorothy.
They had reached the car, and Rachel stared at her over the top of the rental. Had Saxby confided in her?
“You sound awfully sure,” said Lark, voicing Rachel’s thoughts.
“He didn’t say anything to me, if that’s what you’re thinking. He just seems so confident that one of the teams will find something great tomorrow, it makes me believe.”
“Just because he or Becker or Knapp saw the bird, doesn’t mean we will,” said Cecilia.
“Unless Guy found a breeding pair,” said Lark.
Rachel’s eyes never left Dorothy. If Saxby had told her as much, she didn’t react.
“If they’re nesting,” Lark continued, “they’ll stay in the same area. Of course, I have no idea what their range is.”
A lightbulb went off in Rachel’s head. “You realize that either way, regardless of where Becker stood on the trade, if there’s an endangered bird on their land, the Andersons’ chances of selling goes right out the window. It becomes the land trade or nothing.”
“Which plays in their favor for a land swap,” said Lark. “The developers would have to jump through legal hoops to ensure that they aren’t harming any endangered species, or to at least prove they are rebuilding any habitat they do harm, and the state would really want control of the land.”
“I wonder what it means for the Carters?” mused Rachel. So far they hadn’t eliminated any suspects from their list, except for Beau and Reggie. If there was an endangered species living on Swamper’s Island, would the state need the Carters’ land for access? The original plan was to build a visitor’s center on the Carters’ acreage, or provide the developers access.
Rachel knew one thing for certain: The more she learned, the more she was convinced that Becker’s murder had something to do with turf.
Upon reaching their suite, Lark jumped into the shower and Rachel logged on to the Internet. She checked for a message from Kirk and came up emptyhanded. At least she had something to tell him:
The plot thickens. Guy Saxby’s secret is out. He signed with a major network to do a reality-based TV show called “Extreme Birding.” The first episode stars yours truly. Filming commences tomorrow. I trust this is what you were looking for? But there’s more. Chuck Knapp has a competing program called “Avian Adventures.” It appears he and Becker discovered another ivory-billed woodpecker. Don’t you wish you were here? I do.
She paused, and then added:
Love, Rachel
With a few mouse clicks, she sent the message and opened to the Web page discussing the stealing of Becker’s ideas. As she’d suspected, Saxby was named as the culprit. There was no proof, only Becker’s rantings and his threats to sue.
But he hadn’t. Nor, apparently, had he worked with Saxby on anything since.
Rachel suspected they might have been working at cross-purposes on the same project. Or Becker might actively have been out to get Saxby fired. Either one of those could provide Saxby with a motive for killing Becker, albeit a pretty lame one. If it was true that Saxby had stolen Becker’s research, Rachel could see why Becker might have wanted to kill his department head, but Saxby had already weathered the accusations of his graduate student. And if the ivory-billed woodpecker was on Swamper’s Island, Saxby would have his footage tomorrow, and his coup d’état.
Dorothy would be happy to learn Saxby appeared to be in the clear. Less happy to hear how many people believed he had plagiarized his book. Still, it was only hearsay.
Now I’m making excuses for him.
Regardless, Dorothy needed to know, Rachel decided. She knocked on the door connecting their suites, and then opened it. Cecilia sat on one bed reading. Dorothy was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is she?” asked Rachel, nodding toward Dorothy’s bed.
Cecilia dropped her reading glasses onto her chest. “I thought she was in your room. Of all the sneaky . . . She must have gone out.”
“She wouldn’t have gone alone,” said Rachel, keeping her voice steady while her mind was racing.
“Sure she would have. She’s in love. She’s like a teenager.” Cecilia paused to let the meaning sink in. “Oh my, I think we ought to mount a search party.” She slid out of bed in one smooth motion, pulled on a pair of blue pedal
pushers, and tucked in her blue nightshirt. Then she reconsidered and pulled it out. The result looked strangely fashionable—probably because the two items were an identical shade of blue.
Rachel hovered between amusement and alarm.
Then the door clicked, opened, and Dorothy peered around the edge of it.
“Good, you’re awake,” she said, waving a handful of papers. “Look what I’ve got. Releases! All we have to do is sign these and we’re in like Flynn!”
“What are you talking about?” Cecilia crossed her arms and sat down hard on her bed. “You had us worried to death.”
“We have to sign these to appear on television,” replied Dorothy, ignoring her sister’s admonishment. “There are only three camera teams, and one will be with us all the way.”
Rachel’s heart sank. Extreme Birding carried too much pressure. All she wanted to do was relax and enjoy the scenery, especially now that she knew Saxby’s big secret. They could leave it to the police to figure out who murdered Becker. It didn’t affect them now.
“And guess who the other teams are that will have camera crews? Some really big names! But we’ll have Guy,” she added confidently.
Rachel’s mouth went dry. “Guy’s competing?”
“Of course, he’s the ultimate extreme birder.”
“Dorothy, I have to tell you something about Guy.” Without waiting to see her reaction, Rachel forged ahead. “I went back on that message board on my computer. The department head who stole Becker’s research . . . it was Guy.”
Dorothy’s face contorted into an angry mask.
“The good news is I didn’t find any reason that Guy would want to kill Becker. But Becker sure had it in for Guy. It was the same story I got from Sonja Becker.”
“Posh thus, as my mother used to say,” said Dorothy.
Cecilia frowned. “I don’t recall her ever saying that.”
Dorothy ignored her. “You know how things are. Younger teaching assistants are used as research associates all of the time. That’s how one learns the ropes. In that job, you have to expect that your advisors are going to use your findings in their own publications. It’s part of academia.”
Rachel started to argue, but maybe she had it wrong. At any rate, no doubt Dorothy would be impossible to convince.
Proving Rachel correct, Dorothy charged on. “Think of all the things Guy Saxby’s done in his career.” She waved the release forms in the air. “He can talk about anything bird-related. Does he sound like somebody who had to steal someone else’s research to publish?”
When neither of them answered, she answered for them. “No. Becker was jealous, that’s all.”
“Maybe,” said Rachel.
“Oh my, she has love blinders on.”
Dorothy faltered. “It doesn’t matter. Guy has promised that we’ll be on camera tomorrow. We are going to win that money for Raptor House. You’ll see that you’re wrong about him. He is going to prove his mettle.” She handed Rachel two releases. “Here’s one for you, and one for Lark. Now we should all get to bed so we can be extra sharp tomorrow.”
Cecilia scoffed. “Or so somebody can get her much-needed beauty sleep.”
Chapter 12
Rachel didn’t. She tried to sleep, but she tossed and turned, and then finally got up. The clock dial read eleven P.M. They had to be up in six hours.
Lark snored softly in the next bed, so Rachel pulled on her shorts in a beam of moonlight, and then headed downstairs in search of hot chocolate. A small coffee bar had been tucked into a corner for guests, and Rachel helped herself to a packet of Swiss Miss. Three carafes labeled decaf, coffee, and water sat next to the tray of mugs. Dumping the chocolate into the mug, she pushed the pump on the water, and the carafe sputtered. She pushed again, and it spit a burble of water before it finally gave up.
Darn.
There was no clerk at the desk, so Rachel picked up the carafe and ducked her head into the bar. There was no bartender either. Who needed staff with all the birders in bed?
The dining room was closed, but yellow light leaked out from beneath the swinging doors into the kitchen. Maybe she could find someone in there.
Pushing open the swinging door, she stepped into a large room with metal counters and racks. A dishwasher crammed full of dinner dishes churned in the corner, its water spray visible. A woman’s voice screeched from deeper inside.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Rachel stopped in mid-stride. It sounded like Patricia Anderson. Was she talking to her?
Rachel’s free hand flew to her chest, and she peered around the corner of the nearest dish rack. Patricia stood sideways, center aisle, her hands on her hips. A snarl marred her lips. “You are seventeen years old.”
I’m in the clear. Rachel leaned farther around the dish rack. Katie Anderson stood facing her mother. Her black hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and she wore a thin, low-cut tank top, which pushed out in a small bump over her low-rise jeans. Her hands flew to her face, and she rubbed one of her eyes.
The little-girl gesture in a woman’s body touched Rachel’s heart. There was something about the way the girl acted that reminded Rachel of herself not so long ago. There had been times, during her divorce, that she had felt so vulnerable she had wanted to curl up in the fetal position and die. Watching Katie, Rachel sensed the same despair.
“How could you be so stupid?”
Tears spilled over and tumbled down Katie’s face. She snatched up a tissue and blotted her eyes. “I’m not stupid.”
“Wait until your father gets back from Brunswick and I tell him what you’ve been up to. What could you possibly think you’d achieve by visiting Sonja Becker? How could you possibly think she would welcome you and your bastard child with open arms?”
Katie was pregnant? With Paul Becker’s child? Sonja Becker said her husband cheated, and that he liked them young.
“This baby is entitled to a decent upbringing. I expected she might help us. It was worth a try. It’s better than I can expect from you.”
“Why you little . . .” Patricia raised her hand as though to strike Katie, and then changed her mind, balling her hand into a fist by her side. “Your daddy and I plan to see this child placed in a loving home. In the meanttime, you better pray this land trade goes through so we have the money to pay for it.”
Did that mean the developer had backed out?
“I’m not giving up my baby.” Katie, the young woman-child, stood her ground. “That’s why I went to see Mrs. Becker. I figured she might understand.”
The theme song from The Graduate started playing in Rachel’s head.
Katie’s voice rose in timbre. “You and Daddy can’t tell me what to do with my baby.” Her hand gently stroked her belly. “Now get out of my way. I’m leaving.”
With that, Katie pushed past her mother and headed in Rachel’s direction. Rachel drew back against the dish rack. If she tried to leave, Katie would see her. If she stepped into the open it would be obvious she was eavesdropping. Where could she hide?
“Katie Jo Anderson, you get back here,” ordered Patricia.
Rachel heard Katie stop. Had she turned back around? If that was the case, Patricia would be the one facing the door.
Patricia’s voice edged toward hysterical. “You do understand that we’re ruined if the land trade doesn’t go through.”
“That has nothing to do with me. I’m not the one who overextended myself buying this stupid hotel.”
She heard Patricia draw a ragged breath.
“Katie Jo, we need your help,” she said, her voice softened. “Did Sonja Becker admit there was a film?”
Rachel felt her stomach twist. Did this woman have no scruples? Was she going to use her pregnant daughter to try and get her hands on the film?
“Yeah.” Katie sounded petulant. Rachel could see her stance through the dish rack, her arms crossed tightly across the tip of her abdomen, one knee cocked.
“Daddy and I need
it, honey. That’s the only proof that the bird exists. If that film is made public, the developer will back out, and the state can force us to protect the swampland. There will be no reason for them to trade acreages. We’ll be ruined.”
Katie didn’t respond.
Rachel listened carefully for footsteps.
“Katie Jo, did Sonja tell you where it was?”
“You disgust me, Mother. All you’ve ever cared about is money and status.”
“Please, Katie Jo.”
“She told me to ask Chuck Knapp. He’s the one who shot the footage.”
Realizing their conversation was coming to an end, Rachel took the cue. Kicking the door open, she swung the empty carafe and acted like she was just walking in. “I thought I heard voices.”
Patricia’s face hardened into a smile. Katie looked down at the ground, and then brushed past Rachel and disappeared through the swinging doors.
Rachel held up the carafe. “You’re out of water.”
Drinking hot chocolate on the screened-in porch, Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. Thank heavens neither of them had questioned her entrance. Patricia had filled the carafe, and then excused herself to do some work in her office. Katie was gone, and the desk clerk was back with a friendly smile.
Now, listening to the sounds of the cicadas and to the surf gently pounding the sand, Rachel tried to relax. A small noise startled her, and she couldn’t shake the impression that someone watched her from the shadows of the magnolia trees. Her mind flashed to the golf course, and then conjured an image of Trula, the voodoo lady. Oona mus tek cyear.
Rachel shivered and pushed out of the chair. Setting the cup on the service table, she nodded to the desk clerk and climbed the stairs to her room. The old floorboards creaked underneath the carpet, and she imagined old Harry frowning down from his portrait.
Opening her hotel room door, she knocked a piece of paper along the floor. Bending down, she picked it up. Large black letters in block print spelled out:
Death Shoots a Birdie Page 12