by Annie Jones
“Discard? Oh, Kate, when you run a small town library with an aim to maintain a first-rate collection, you don’t discard a book for a crease in a page and some dirt on the jacket.”
“It’s checked out, then?” Kate glanced toward the circulation desk, where patrons checked out or returned the books.
“Nope. We’ve got it right here under the counter.” She turned and motioned for Kate to follow her. “We couldn’t get those grayish smudges off the back for anything. I was contemplating just covering the worst of it up with a little of the binding tape we usually use to reinforce book spines.”
“That might work.” The biggest smudge, under the protective plastic dust jacket, hadn’t obscured any of the back cover copy.
“You think so?” Livvy paused and cocked her head. “I thought it might look just as tacky as the smudges.”
“I suppose, but only to you because you’d know what it was hiding. Other people would just assume the paper dust jacket had gotten torn and been patched up.”
“Hmm. You may have a point.” She reached under the counter and withdrew the book. “Anyway, I held the book under the counter to let the staff and volunteers offer suggestions before I resorted to the tape. Here you go.”
“You didn’t do anything to fix the creased page, did you?” Kate accepted the plain volume and examined the edges of the pages with the book still closed.
“I unfolded it. But I didn’t bring my iron in from home and try to press the crease out, if that’s what you mean.”
Kate laughed. “I know I sound a bit extreme, but I have a feeling that whatever was on that marked page might give me some insight into a whole slew of events that have happened this past week. Most importantly, what has happened to the birds.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I remembered the drawing on that page was of a man with a big whistle in his mouth. The title referred to football, but I wonder now if it was a chapter on how to scare birds off.” She opened the book and began to fan through the pages, looking for either the illustration or the folded-over corner. “Here it is!”
She showed the drawing to Livvy, then turned her attention to the short story that didn’t even fill two pages.
“Well, I’ll be,” Kate murmured as she turned the page to read the conclusion. “Who’d have ever thought of that?”
Chapter Thirty
Kate had thought the book would be helpful, but she had no idea she’d learn this much.
“What?” Livvy leaned forward to try to see what Kate was reading. “Are you going to read it out loud?”
“Read what?” Bonnie made her way to the counter, her cane tapping out the rhythm of her cautious, rolling gait.
“Kate thinks she’s got a lead on what has scared your birds away,” Livvy said with excitement.
“Really?” The cadence of Bonnie’s walking picked up until she reached Kate’s side.
“Actually, no.” Kate reached the end of the story, sighed, shook her head, and set the book down with her thumb placed firmly between the pages to hold her place. “Just the opposite.”
“What?” Livvy and Bonnie both demanded in unison.
“This story isn’t about a man who learned how to scare birds away, but about one who found a way to draw birds together to scare people away.”
“Was that man’s name Artie Best?” Bonnie wanted to know with a smile.
“I came here for answers, but I’m not going to find them that easily.” Kate shook her head in amusement at her friend’s suggestion.
“So tell us what you did find,” Livvy urged.
“The book actually warns that the whole thing might be an urban legend.” Kate lifted the book, opened to the page where the story began, cleared her throat, opened her mouth, then shut it and the book again. “It’s almost silly. Then again, it is the kind of silly thing that a desperate person just might try.”
“Just hit the high notes of the story then,” Bonnie suggested. “We’ll tell you if it sounds plausible.”
“Good idea.” Kate set the book on the counter. “Now supposedly, around fifteen years ago, a man became angry when the local high school bought the land behind his home and cleared it out to build a football stadium. This displaced local wildlife, and the traffic, construction, and inconsiderate spectators inconvenienced him and his neighbors. So he devised his own means of retribution.”
Bonnie and Livvy both leaned against the counter, their chins propped in their hands as they listened intently.
“The story goes that every evening at approximately the time the games would be starting the following fall, he would dress in a referee’s uniform, go out onto the field, blow a loud whistle, and scatter bags full of birdseed.”
“And birds literally flocked to the site,” Livvy concluded.
“And they continued to do so every time a man in a referee’s uniform took the field and blew a whistle. So at the first football game, when the ref took the field for the coin toss...” Kate left it for the others to come to the obvious conclusion. She pushed the book toward Bonnie in case she wanted to go over the details herself. “And Artie Best has stacks and stacks of birdseed in his supply barn and has been using it up fast.”
Bonnie glanced over the pages containing the story, then closed the book. “And you think that Artie might have checked out this book?”
“I think he had his hands on it.” Kate flipped the book over to show the black smudges on the cover. “Those are just like the stains LuAnne Matthews showed us in the pocket of her uniform where she put the seed packet.”
“What seed packet?” Livvy wanted to know.
“These exotic South American sunflower-type seeds that come in a bright foil-type packet and are coated with this light, gritty black oil that leaves a mess.” Bonnie tapped the damaged book cover, then fixed her gaze on Kate. “But Dud Howell had seed packets like that.”
Kate had thought of that already, and of LuAnne saying that Dud was very careful not to get his hands dirty from the seeds. Kate remembered looking at Dud’s hands and at Charlene’s. She’d never seen any of the black substance on them. “Technically, the seed packet was left by Dud Howell, who pulled it out of the pocket of the overalls he borrowed from—”
“Artie Best,” Bonnie filled in the blank.
Kate hated to admit it, but this didn’t look good for the local bird wrangler.
“But didn’t Dud have seeds like that before he started wearing those borrowed overalls?” Bonnie asked.
“Good point.” Kate frowned.
“And, not unlike the man in the story of the stadium, Artie hasn’t made any attempt to hide his displeasure with people tramping up and down on his property.” Bonnie used Artie’s own words to drive home her point.
“But the man in the story went to all that trouble to get the birds to come to a specific place, not to leave it.” Livvy was apparently still trying to make the pieces fit and wasn’t completely satisfied with the result.
“So has Artie, I suspect. He loves the birds and wants to protect them, so I think he’s found a way to make them come to him. The man in this story was able to do this in a football stadium without people catching on. I suspect it was because the birds stayed close to the feeding grounds. And if Artie got the idea from this book weeks ago, he’s had plenty of time to have trained the birds before Bonnie came around and noticed the flocks weren’t as widespread as they were supposed to be. The birds are missing as we get close to his land because they are staying on his land where we were not permitted to go.” Kate put her hand on Bonnie’s shoulder. “In essence, he’s stolen all the birds that make their home in or are migrating through Best Acres. He must be using an isolated spot out in the country. That’s why we aren’t seeing birds as we near his place. They are keeping to a small area. I suspect if we watched the skies all day long we might catch them but we really haven’t had that advantage. However, if Artie has trained the birds to congregate in one or even a couple of
specific spots on his property, those spots would be a bird-watcher’s dream.”
That realization seemed to hit Bonnie. She turned to Kate and whispered eagerly, “He might even have encouraged the umbies to keep to those areas.”
“I suppose so.” Kate paused. “He was very particular about when we could come out to see him and was away from the house at certain times of the day. So you think he could encourage even specific birds like the pair of umbies to stay close to wherever the seed was being spread all the time?”
“Yes. There is so much land out there, not just Artie’s but just open land all around, lots of brush and so much tree cover. If the birds were keeping close to certain areas and staying in those trees, not having to fly around looking for food, it would seem to us there were hardly any birds at all,” Bonnie surmised.
“Other times, when we spotted small clusters of birds or two or three flitting by, that was probably between feedings.” The pieces were all coming together for Kate.
Bonnie nodded, her eyes lighting up with understand-ing. “Yes. Wild birds don’t rely solely on food from humans for their entire diet. But they might stay close to a source of food.”
Kate sighed. She’d been hoping it wouldn’t come to this. “So we’ve established motive, opportunity, and at least circumstantial evidence. The only thing now that can cinch the case against Artie Best would be to confront him.”
And that’s just what they agreed to do.
Chapter Thirty-One
They formed a simple plan. Kate and Bonnie would go out to Best Acres. If they were fortunate, they’d find Artie with birdseed sacks in his truck. If not, they could at least confront him with the book, the decreasing sacks of seed in his supply barn, and the notes Bonnie had taken to show how the bird population had been affected through the countryside. What would happen after that, they didn’t know.
Neither Livvy nor Kate thought Artie would do any harm to the women, but then they hadn’t expected any of the activities they now suspected him of doing. Bonnie had rattled her cane to remind them that if he had set the trap, even if he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, she had indeed been hurt.
So they preprogrammed Livvy’s number on Bonnie’s cell phone, just as it was in Kate’s, and agreed to call and check in with Livvy later. If they felt even the least bit threatened, they would call the sheriff.
It was a short enough drive from the library to the old winding road that went by Best Acres. As Kate made the turn that would take her down the familiar route, she centered her thoughts on what she needed to accomplish next.
“Do you think there might be a chance we’ll pull up to his house and find him loading birdseed to take out to one of his fields?” Kate visualized the unsophisticated map in the brochure and tried to imagine how they would go about systematically finding him if he wasn’t at his house.
“One of his fields?” Bonnie paused, a new scarf from the Mercantile thrown over her fresh hairdo, ready to be tied under her chin. “Do you think he’s been feeding them in more than one spot?”
“If that’s the case, it’ll only make it harder to catch up with him. The best way to get to the bottom of this would be to find him with the extra birdseed in his truck.”
“Unless he up and confesses.” Bonnie swiftly looped the ends of her scarf over, under, and through to draw them into a neat, tight knot.
“Unless he confesses,” Kate murmured in agreement. “That would be the easiest, of course.”
“From what I’ve seen at my home bird feeders, the prime times for birds to come out en masse to feed at a place where they expect seed would be early, early morning and late afternoon.” Bonnie shifted restlessly in the seat, her face to the window as they made the short trip along the old highway. “It’s after three. Of course, I can’t say for sure, but it’s got to be getting close to the time he’d be heading out to feed the birds. I’ll bet we find him loading up.”
“I hope so,” Kate said, though some small part of her hoped that wasn’t the case at all.
Since she’d first laid eyes on Artie Best’s sweet home, she’d felt a kind of sympathy for him. The story about his ill-fated romance with Joanie only added to her sense that he was just a lonely soul looking for a second chance. How many of God’s children could that describe?
Kate looked up at the leaves, which had started turning yellow and orange, fluttering and breaking free of the limbs that had once sustained them. The number of people with aching hearts, in need of hope and understanding, probably outnumbered the birds in the sky.
Kate prayed that God would work through her to remind everyone she encountered that Christ had come to heal the brokenhearted. She had come to the conclusion that it was this state of mind, or rather this state of heart, that had led Artie to take drastic action—if in fact he’d taken any action. She’d seen firsthand the impassioned debate in the online birding communities. She suspected he had come up with this plan to protect the rare sparrows from those who wanted to trap and keep them in captivity. Or perhaps he was so angry that he did want revenge on Joanie’s Ark, as Dot had suggested.
Suddenly Kate stopped the car. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? The best way to get to the bottom of this wouldn’t be to find Artie with seed in his truck; the best way would be to actually catch Artie in the act of seeding his fields for the birds.
Bonnie, startled, gripped the handle of her cane. “What are you doing, Kate? Aren’t we going to see Artie?”
“Maybe, if we have to. But I think, first, we ought to give Artie a chance to come see us.” She put the Honda into reverse, backed up a few hundred yards, then steered it onto the slightly sloping shoulder of the old road and parked.
“This is close to where I parked the day I hurt my ankle.” Bonnie looked around. “What are you up to, Kate?”
“The first day you took me bird-watching, we saw Artie Best driving through a field in his truck. So we know he comes out this way. Later, you tripped over that fishing line near this spot.”
“Yes. Because I saw a male umbie hopping around on the ground as I got out of the car.”
“And I think I saw one too, when I came out to investigate with Paul, Dud, and Charlene.” Kate unbuckled her seat belt and opened her car door. “Which means there’s a good chance that we’re very close to one of the places where Artie has been feeding the birds. We tried to avoid this area from the start because the map had always said to give Best Acres a wide berth, but that day you were following an umbie and didn’t pay that any heed.”
“Of course. All we have to do is find it and wait for Artie to show up.” Bonnie opened her door and began the complicated work of getting herself out.
Kate shut the car door quietly and came around to offer her friend some assistance. “Do you think you’re up to it?”
“I’d like to see somebody try to hold me back,” she asserted as she planted her cane on the ground and stood. “Besides, do you know what you’re looking for?”
“Well...” Kate took Bonnie by the elbow to support her as they made their way through the brush and uneven terrain along the road. “A whole lot of birds?”
Bonnie laughed. “So he would need a large open area with trees and bushes close by for the birds to watch from and retreat to.”
“The bushes near where we found the fishing line looked down a hill to Artie’s house, so that wouldn’t be the place.” Kate looked around, then raised her hand and pointed. “There are plenty of trees over that way.”
“If we see any birds at all, it’ll be a good indicator.” Bonnie moved ahead. “The birds will never have gotten all the feed, so there should be some left on the ground. And if he has used something with sunflower seeds in it, there will be discarded shells everywhere. Keep your eyes peeled for the signs—birds, seed, and—”
“Artie Best standing in a field throwing seed from a bag.” Kate finished her friend’s sentence as she pushed aside a leafy branch to reveal the very thing she had just described.
&nb
sp; Chapter Thirty-Two
Before Bonnie could say anything, Kate put her finger to her lips, then turned and stepped through the brush. This was the moment, she realized, when she had her chance to show Artie the love of Christ.
And she’d have to do it without knowing how Artie Best, cornered in the midst of his mischief, might react. She shot up a quick prayer.
“Hello, Mr. Best,” she said quietly as she stepped from the shelter of the trees into the open. Bonnie followed.
“Mrs. Hanlon? Mrs. Mulgrew?” Artie stood there with birdseed sifting through his fingers onto the patchy grass around his feet. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again. “I was just feedin’ my birds.”
Kate shot up another prayer for the right words. “Except they aren’t your birds, are they, Mr. Best? These are wild birds. Nobody can lay claim on them, not even someone who cares for them. They’re God’s creatures.” Kate made her way carefully through the field, trying not to mash too much seed and soft earth into the soles of her shoes. “If they belong to anyone, they belong to everyone.”
Artie scowled. “That’d be fine if everyone would take care of ’em and their habitat and respect each of ’em as much as they do the rare ones, the way I do.” He tossed the last of the seed in his hand aside.
Kate kept her tone kind. “Instead of people tramping all around and leaving trash behind?” She used his own words to show him that she understood.
Bonnie leaned heavily on her cane as she stopped at Kate’s side and said, “But you’re talking about bird lovers, here, Mr. Best. They wouldn’t do anything to hurt the birds.”
“Maybe not intentionally.” He wiped his hands on his dusty overalls, then walked a few feet toward the trees lining the open field. He stuck out his bristled jaw and said, “But lots of folks get all in one place, away from their homes, all worked up and egged on by one another, and all their better instincts can go right out the window.”