Death Shoots a Birdie

by CHRISTINE L. GOFF

  QUIT SNOOPING OR DIE.

  Rachel froze in place. Her whole body tingled. Whipping around, she searched the landing for a sign of anyone in the hallway or on the stairs. Stepping into her room, she slammed the door, turned the deadbolt, and drew the chain.

  Lark sat bolt upright in bed. “Rachel? What’s wrong?”

  Rachel flipped on the light.

  Lark blinked in bed like a great-horned owl. Rachel thrust the note into her hand. Lark blanched.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “I found it on the floor. Someone must have shoved it under the door.” She told Lark about her trip downstairs for hot chocolate, the conversation she’d overheard, and about feeling someone watching her.

  “We need to call the police,” said Lark.

  Rachel agreed.

  Detective Stone arrived within twenty minutes. By then Dorothy and Cecilia were up as well, disturbed by the urgent whispering of the occupants of their adjoining suite.

  “Tell me again,” the detective said.

  This time she gladly repeated her story. The detective sat rigid in the chair by the window, while his partner leaned against the doorjamb scribbling notes. The detective held the now-sheathed warning by a corner.

  “We have a suspect list if you want it,” said Dorothy.

  Detective Stone rolled his eyes. “Sure, give it to my partner. Meanwhile, I’ll check this paper for fingerprints.” He didn’t sound optimistic. “Only the two of you touched it?”

  Cecilia raised her hand. “I might have touched it, too, Detective.”

  “That figures.” He stood up shaking his head. “Ms. Wilder, Ms. Drummond, and you.” He pointed two fingers and included both sisters. “I want you all to steer clear of my investigation from here on out. No more developing suspect lists, no more eavesdropping. Do you understand? ” He shook his head. “It nearly got you killed this afternoon. Let me and my men handle these matters. Is that understood?”

  “Got it,” said Rachel.

  Lark and Cecilia nodded.

  Dorothy just narrowed her eyes.

  The alarm went off a few hours later. The women grabbed coffee and bagels on the way out the door, and the four of them made the bus with time to spare. Rachel was a bit surprised that it wasn’t the colorful Okefenokee Swamp Tours bus they’d ridden on before.

  “There’s been a change,” was all Saxby offered.

  The ride took an hour. Dorothy sat smugly beside Saxby the entire way. Cecilia sat two seats behind, craning her neck around camera equipment to keep an eye on her sister. Rachel and Lark sat on the other side of the bus and enjoyed an excellent view of Saxby showing Dorothy points of interest.

  “I admit it,” said Lark. “I don’t see what she sees in him. To me, he seems kind of smitten with himself. What in the heck do you suppose is going on?”

  “Chemistry,” said Rachel.

  “I disagree. I think he’s using her.”

  “For what?” There certainly wasn’t anything physical going on between them unless she was drugging Cecilia to sneak out at night. For that matter, Cecilia might be a heavy sleeper. Saxby’s room was right above them.

  The thought chilled her. Then another thought crept in behind it. Could he have been the one who slipped her the note?

  “Besides, what does it matter?” asked Rachel. “She’s enjoying the attention, and she has lots of keepers.” Rachel gestured at Cecilia. “She seems happy. What harm can there be in a mild flirtation? The three of you are headed back to Colorado in a couple of days, and that will be the end of it.”

  Lark looked skeptical. “Did you see the way she forced me to sign that release? Not only are we going to humiliate ourselves on national television, we consented to it.”

  “If the pilot doesn’t work for the network, maybe he can sell it to America’s Funniest Home Videos.”

  “Don’t even joke, Rae.” Moments later, Lark’s head turned. “Did you see that sign? DON’T FEED THE ALLIGATORS. Who on earth would stop and feed the alligators?”

  “I don’t know. They have those signs on ski lifts, too. DON’T JUMP OFF THE SKI LIFT. Same thing. Who in their right mind would jump?”

  “I guess some people think alligators are cute,” conceded Lark.

  “Well I think bears are cute,” said Rachel, “but that doesn’t mean I’d want to be one’s lunch.”

  The driver braked suddenly, and Lark grabbed the back of the seat. “What’s going on?”

  Rachel thought of an alligator crossing.

  The bus slowed, pulled into a makeshift parking area behind another bus, and both vehicles sat there spewing fumes.

  “We don’t seem to be there yet,” Lark observed.

  Rachel noticed that on the other side of the bus, the cameraman sitting near Cecilia had started filming out the window. “I think the view is on the other side.”

  Both of them moved forward and squeezed into the seat next to Cecilia. Through the window, they saw a line of protesters blocking the road.

  “There’s Fancy Carter with her pet alligator,” said Lark. “Rhinestones and all.”

  “You’re kidding.” Rachel craned to see.

  “Yes,” Lark said. “About the alligator.”

  Rachel had to agree, Fancy did look like the sort of person who would have a pet alligator, and she glittered on the front line, flanked by both of her sons. No wonder they had taken a different bus this morning.

  “There’s Nevin Anderson,” said Lark. “I wonder what the heck is going on?”

  Rachel waited for Lark to make some sharp observation about him, too, but it didn’t come.

  “Liam Kelly’s here,” said Rachel, standing up to get a look at Dorothy and Guy. Saxby didn’t look happy, but Dorothy did. Rachel flashed Dorothy a signal, and she gave Rachel a thumbs-up.

  “What’s happening?” mouthed Rachel.

  Dorothy shrugged.

  Saxby turned to the bus driver. A minute later the door opened, and the two men strode across the road to the protestors. Rachel followed them off the bus.

  “Get back in your rig,” said Dwayne Carter. He noticed Rachel, smiled, and winked. “You can stay.”

  Guy Saxby glanced over his shoulder and glared. “Get back in the bus, Rachel.”

  “I want to know what’s going on just as much as you do. This is our field trip.”

  Saxby turned back to the crowd. “I insist you move out of the way.”

  Lark appeared at Rachel’s shoulder. “Do you think this is staged? Our first obstacle—get past the swamp people.”

  Now there was an idea, thought Rachel, except Saxby didn’t seem to be taking this in stride.

  “The cameras are rolling,” she said.

  “This is our land, Saxby,” said Fancy. “If you want access to the Okefenokee, you can make it down the road.”

  “You know this is the only quick access to Swamper’s Island. The only other way is by boat.”

  “And you still need permission to land,” said Nevin Anderson, stepping forward. “I don’t remember agreeing to let you on my island.”

  Rachel wondered if Fancy would allow Nevin Anderson access? She controlled the gateway, and as long as all deals were on the table, she was sitting pretty. What happened if all deals were off?

  “There’s a right-of-way easement into the swamp,” said Saxby. “You have to let us through.”

  By now the bus had emptied, and the two camps faced off. Actually, three camps. Rachel noticed that Liam Kelly and his protestors seemed to have their own agenda. The group carried signs that read STOP THE LAND TRADE, STOP ALL DEVELOPMENT, and LET THE SWAMP GO WILD.

  “No land swap,” they chanted. “Let the swamp go wild.”

  Saxby pointed toward Liam. “I’m on your side.”

  “You’re exploiting the birds,” Liam yelled back. “You’re no better than the others.”

  Saxby appealed to Dwayne Carter. “Be reasonable. This television show can put your swamp tour business on the map.”r />
  “You want access?” countered Dwayne. “The public right-of-way is the next turn down the highway. It takes you to the public dock. From there, you can access the swamp, provided you have your own boats.”

  Rachel noticed Dwight edge toward a battered old truck. A rifle hung in the gun rack in the back window, and his hand clamped down on the stock. A stab of fear caused her stomach muscles to clench.

  “Guy.” She tugged on Saxby’s shirt. “I think we should leave and sort this out later.”

  “Do you have any idea what it costs to pay these film crews?” he bellowed to no one in particular.

  Dwight freed the rifle and drew it out the window. Rachel wondered if the detective should check its ballistics.

  Raising the barrel toward the sky, Dwight cocked the rifle and fired.

  The shot quieted the crowd.

  Dwight cradled the rifle, and advanced on Saxby. “You are trespassing here, and I am ordering you off my land. If you don’t skedaddle in the next five minutes, I’m going to put a bullet in your ass.”

  Saxby’s eyes widened, and Rachel noticed his hands shook. “Back on the bus,” she said to Lark. “Come on, Cecilia and Dorothy.”

  Dorothy started to step up beside Saxby, but Cecilia grabbed her arm. “Dorothy MacBean, you get back on that bus. I’m not going to have my sister shot defending a pompous . . . a man like Guy Saxby.”

  “What did you call him?” Dorothy whirled on Cecilia, and Rachel took the opportunity to push Dorothy toward the bus.

  “How dare you?” Dorothy continued. “You just don’t understand him. You’re just jealous.” Her voice lacked conviction, however, and she did what the others told her to do.

  Saxby tried talking with Nevin Anderson, but from Saxby’s body language, Rachel could tell he was losing. Moments later he said something sharp to the cameraman and strode back to the bus. The driver followed him aboard, made a slow, arduous turn with the bus, and headed back.

  As they picked up speed, Saxby stood up and spoke into the microphone. “This is not our day, folks. But, trust me, we will be back. I’m sorry to disappoint you.” Then he sat back down, this time next to the cameraman.

  Dorothy sat with Rachel. “It was just a case of ruffled feathers.”

  Rachel lifted her hair off her neck. The air conditioning had gone off while the bus had been stopped, and she was feeling a little ruffled herself. “This isn’t going to make such a great pilot.”

  “Guy thinks Chuck Knapp put the protestors up to this,” said Dorothy. “At least that’s what he said when we first pulled up. I’ll bet he’s right. It’s a pretty cutthroat world, this extreme birding.”

  “Still,” said Rachel. “He’s not going to have much to show at the keynote. It’s apt to be pretty boring.”

  Chapter 13

  What the keynote lacked in extreme birding footage, it made up for in drama.

  Rachel watched Saxby work the crowd. He was an engaging speaker who used his charm to involve the audience, and he clearly knew his stuff. To make up for the lack of raw footage from the day, he showed clips from a trip he had made to Africa and sprinkled in lots of commentary: how he avoided the oversafaried African hot spots and detailing the effects of tourism on the canopy, on the animals, and on the natives, pointing out what his own party did to minimize their impact on the environment.

  Comparing his film with Knapp’s, Rachel decided the biggest contrast was Saxby didn’t have the amazing shots of the birds. A typical shot in Saxby’s film showed him or one of his group pointing at a bird, followed by a zoomed-in close-up. Knapp’s film had recorded the birds without their awareness. Knapp apparently had patience, something Saxby sorely lacked.

  The lights came up, and Saxby moved from stage left to center stage, with a comfortable motion that indicated he knew he belonged there.

  “Questions? You, sir.” Saxby held up his hand to shield his eyes and gazed toward the back of the auditorium. Then, just as quickly, he shifted his gaze to the opposite side and pointed to a woman. “Ma’am.”

  “You can’t dodge my questions that easily,” shouted the man from the back.

  Rachel turned and recognized Knapp. At the moment he didn’t look very patient at all.

  “I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing, stealing my film!”

  “Oh my, who is that?” Cecilia wanted to know, craning around in her chair.

  “Chuck Knapp,” whispered Rachel.

  “What is he saying?” asked Lark.

  The murmur from the audience drowned out Dorothy’s reaction, but the crowd quieted when Saxby replied.

  “The question, in case everybody didn’t hear it, was why did I steal Mr. Knapp’s film?”

  Rachel skin prickled. Knapp’s film was missing. He had to be talking about the footage from Swamper’s Island.

  “Chuck, what the hell are you talking about? This footage was clearly my vision, my group, taken on my cameras—”

  “I’m not talking about your stupid safari film,” hollered Knapp, heading up the aisle toward the stage.

  Rachel wondered if somebody ought to stop him.

  “I’m talking about my more recent footage, which someone has misappropriated.”

  Where had it disappeared from?

  “We all know how you have done this kind of thing before.” Knapp advanced down the aisle.

  Saxby looked indignant. “If your film has disappeared, I suggest you take it up with the authorities rather than blame an innocent person. Or perhaps you should keep better track of your property.”

  Knapp made a guttural noise. “Don’t think you can get away with this. I had better not see my footage used in your so-called reality show.”

  “Now that would be pretty stupid of me, wouldn’t it, Chuck? You may have prevented me from getting my own footage today, but I assure you I’m capable of coming through for my producers without resorting to theft.”

  “Do you really expect anyone to believe that? Considering your history?”

  Rachel glanced at Dorothy. Her face was the color of milk.

  Knapp stood on the floor below Saxby, but kept his volume high. “You have stolen careers with your plagiarism. Well, you are not stealing mine!”

  Saxby glared down at him. “That’s a fairly serious accusation, Chuck.”

  “A leopard cannot change its spots. You may have changed your modus operandi, but you are still a thief.”

  Saxby spoke into the microphone. “Is that proof according to Knapp?”

  The filmmaker exploded. “You specialize in the kind of theft where nothing is missing. You steal property no one can ever recover. But film is tangible, and you damn well know what I’m talking about.”

  Saxby looked over Knapp’s head, out into the audience, officially dismissing him. “The lady in the back there. Miss? Do you have a question?”

  Over the buzz of the audience, the woman shouted out something to the effect that wouldn’t TV shows like the one Saxby proposed attract hordes of tourists to converge on delicate ecosystems? But Knapp refused to let the show go on. He grabbed the cord of the microphone and yanked on it.

  Did he intend to vault himself up onto the stage?

  Saxby released the microphone and Knapp fell backwards, to gasps from the audience. The microphone clattered to the stage.

  “Why doesn’t somebody do something?” Dorothy hissed. “We could do something. We could go up there and . . .”

  Knapp was yelling now, but he couldn’t be understood over the crowd. Saxby’s voice carried without the benefit of the microphone.

  “Apparently Mr. Knapp is upset because he has nothing to present tomorrow night for his segment of the program,” said Saxby. “And instead of working up something, he came here, and chose to disrupt tonight’s program. Is there any security in the building?”

  Two maroon-clad security guards hustled down the aisle.

  “Now, ma’am, to address your question . . .”

  “I don’t think Sax
by needs our help, Dorothy,” said Lark. “He seems to be doing well enough on his own.”

  But Knapp refused to be muffled. He clamored to his feet, and then hoisted himself onto the stage. “You will pay for this.”

  Was he threatening Saxby?

  “Really, Chuck, this is unprofessional,” said Saxby, taking a step back while the security guards tried dragging Knapp from the stage. “If you had availed yourself of modern technology—I’m talking digital, Chuck—then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “I wish Kirk were here to see this,” Rachel said to nobody in particular. “Assaults, allegations—”

  “Unfounded allegations,” Dorothy muttered.

  “Unproven, anyway,” said Lark.

  Dorothy threw daggers at Lark with her eyes.

  Evan Kearns took the stage, looking very stern. The audience appeared to be holding its breath to see if Knapp was going to take a punch at Saxby. Saxby, prudently enough, took another step back.

  “Gentlemen,” Evan said. “This is not what any of us came to see. Now, if you wish to continue this discussion, I suggest you do so in private?” He gave Knapp a hard look. “Chuck, this is Saxby’s stage. You get to speak tomorrow night.”

  The men faced off, then Knapp drew a breath so deep that the microphone picked it up. Knapp stalked off through the wings. Saxby bent down, picked up the mike, and without looking or sounding the least bit ruffled, continued.

  “To address the question about whether shows such as mine would cause tourists to converge thus creating an unfavorable impact on areas with delicate ecologies, I don’t believe that will happen. To a small portion of the population these are already areas of interest, but the cost involved in undertaking expeditions into these areas can be quite prohibitive for the average person. In fact, it’s with that in mind that we present this programming. We want to share the experience with people who have neither the time nor the funds, but who desperately want to experience and learn about diverse ecosystems and their denizens.

  “Now, if you’ll forgive me for not tackling any more questions, I thank you for your attention.”