Unflappable

by Suzie Gilbert

  “But what about your phones?” she asked. “Did you make any calls they could hack?”

  “Michael’s girlfriend rented the car for us fifteen minutes ago, and we’re getting out of here right now,” said Lyllis. “They won’t have time to put it together. I bought you some clothes,” she added, pointing to the shopping bag. “Underwear, pair of pants, shirt, sweater, and socks. ‘Course I know your sizes. Look underneath, ‘cause the most important items are at the bottom. Size 8, regular width.”

  Luna pulled out a box.

  “Running shoes,” said Michael.

  • • •

  Gunderman drove through town with both hands balanced on the wheel of his car, still shaken by the sight of Warren’s face on the Fish and Wildlife release. A call from Whittaker was imminent, and it would not be pleasant.

  He pulled into a space close to the police department. He slid out and spotted Elias, sitting in his parked truck. “Officer Gunderman!” said Elias through his open window. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

  The men met on the sidewalk. “I have a favor to ask you,” said Elias. “Today is the anniversary of my daughter’s husband’s death. Sometimes she gets a little sad. Would you consider taking her out to dinner tonight?”

  Gunderman pictured the photograph of Celia, blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight, gleefully hugging her husband’s killer.

  “What do you think?” pressed Elias.

  “Oh. Yes. I’m sorry to hear that. Certainly, whatever I can do to help.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Elias said smoothly, as if these were arrangements he made all the time. “There’s a great little Italian place on Maple. How about six o’clock?”

  “All right.”

  “I realize we have our differences, but you’re a good man,” said Elias. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, but Celia’s awfully sensitive. Best not to bring this up.”

  “Understood.”

  Elias smiled, clapped Gunderman on the shoulder, and headed down the street. Does he really think I’m going to fall for this? thought Gunderman. Is Warren involved?

  • • •

  The smell of bacon filled the kitchen. The windows framed a cloudy afternoon. Elias was spreading mayonnaise on six pieces of toast when Celia dropped the skillet onto the burner with a crash.

  “A date?” she gasped.

  “You want to help Luna?” asked Elias, glancing behind him and keeping his voice down. “You want to get Banshee back with Mars? Then go out to dinner and don’t ask any questions.”

  “But…did you already ask him?”

  “I just set it up. Go along with it, have a nice dinner, and do your part.”

  “But I don’t want to go on a date!”

  “Suck it up, Celia! This is the only …”

  Elias stopped abruptly as Wizzie walked into the room. “Who’s going on a date? Not Mom.”

  “Yes, Mom,” said Elias.

  “With who?”

  “Never mind,” said Elias. “You don’t need to know everything that goes on around here.”

  Wizzie peered at Celia. “But who would you ever go on a …” Her jaw dropped. “Is it Officer Gunderman? Are you going on a date with Officer Gunderman?”

  Celia threw Elias an irritated look.

  “When did this happen?” cried Wizzie. “Can I come?”

  “Of course you can’t,” said Elias. “Don’t be ridiculous. And it’s not a date, it’s a business dinner.”

  “But I heard Mom say a date!”

  “It’s a date for a business dinner!”

  Wizzie looked imploringly at Celia, who was busily making sandwiches. “Mom! I can go with you, right?”

  “No,” said Celia, determinedly avoiding eye contact with her daughter.

  “But he doesn’t even have a business! He works for the government! Are you allowed to do this? Isn’t it like dating your parole officer?”

  “You’re not going,” said Elias. “You’re going to Anna’s for a sleepover!” He glanced at his watch. “Aren’t you getting picked up soon?”

  “But it wasn’t even Anna’s idea! She said all of a sudden her dad told her she was having a sleepover, and…”

  “…and that’s all she wrote, Wizzie!” finished Elias, grabbing a sandwich. “You’re going to Anna’s, Mom’s going out to dinner, and I’m holding down the fort! You ladies have lunch, and I’ll go check on the beavers!”

  Pulling a baseball cap off a hook, he hurried out the door toward the clinic and went over his mental checklist. Wizzie, done. Celia, done. Well, basically done; Celia couldn’t admit to something she didn’t know. The only potentially awkward moment would be if Gunderman brought up the supposed death anniversary, but Elias was sure he was too polite to do it. Even if he did, Celia would be too shy to correct him.

  Gunderman would assume there was an eagle heist in the works, but if he didn’t go along with the dinner, he could derail what might be his only chance to apprehend Luna. He would probably post a cop on the road, which was why Elias needed to borrow Owen’s car.

  He finished his sandwich. The Princess and the Pauper plan will go down in rehabber history, he thought. He almost wished he could explain it to Gunderman, just so Gunderman could more fully understand the importance of keeping a bonded pair of Bald Eagles together. He’ll learn, he thought.

  • • •

  Gunderman watched Elias stride away, then he turned and entered the Prattstown Police Department. The day before he had met the chief, a genial man in his fifties who hadn’t let on, if he knew, that Gunderman had arrived from Rock Ridge in disgrace. The chief had shaken Gunderman’s hand, pledged his support, and encouraged him to use their database.

  Today the station was quiet. Right now I’m a bird guard, he had said to Celia and Elias, deliberately trying to rouse Celia’s sympathy and prod her into revealing a plan. But it was true, he was a bird guard. And now it was clear Elias had a plan, but whether Celia was in on it was anyone’s guess. Gunderman nodded at an officer, and sat at an empty desk in the corner. His cell phone rang, and he pulled his eyes from the computer.

  “Get onscreen,” ordered Whittaker.

  Gunderman tapped the keyboard, feeling a chill at his boss’s tone. Whittaker appeared at his desk, his eyes hard. He slapped a folder down, removed a photograph, and turned it toward his computer screen.

  The old black and white shot showed a dozen fit, muscled young men clustered on a beach. They were short-haired, clean-shaven, and shirtless, all wearing shorts and the occasional brimmed cap. Gunderman squinted at the man beside Whittaker’s pointed finger: a young Warren, grinning rakishly at the camera.

  “Warren Trask,” said Whittaker, snapping off the syllables. “Naval Special Warfare Group Three, SEAL Team One.”

  He picked up a second photograph and slid it in front of the first. Another old black and white shot showed a group of men in full camouflage, bullet belts crossed across their chests. Warren stood beside Whittaker’s pointed finger, staring steadily at the camera, an M-14 balanced casually on one shoulder.

  “Warren Trask,” he said. “Rung Sat — ‘The Forest of Assassins.’ I’ll spare you the medals and citations.”

  Whittaker picked up a third photo. “Warren Trask,” he said. “Founder of The Florida Panther Recovery Unit.”

  The recent color photo showed Warren, grey-haired, bearded, sitting on the hood of a battered jeep. His eyes were fixed on the distance, and he held a pair of binoculars just beneath his chin.

  “And you know what?” continued Whittaker, his voice rising. “There isn’t one shred of evidence linking a trained combat vet, decorated sniper, and defender of the environment to any of this Matheson bullshit. None of the police officers involved in the capture of the Unidentified White Male will give a positive ID because one, they tackled him from behind, two, his face was camouflaged, and three, he kept it hidden when he was in the fucking bear net.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Gunderman.

/>   Whittaker lowered the photographs. “This information should have come from you. Can you make a positive ID of this man?”

  Gunderman held Whittaker’s gaze. He swallowed. When he finally spoke, his voice was harder than he meant it to be.

  “No, sir.”

  Whittaker gave a grunt of disgust. “Your regional supervisor has been my best friend for 40 years.”

  He slammed his hands down on the desk and shoved the file aside. “You listen to me, Gunderman,” he said. “I want both those eagles, I want this case wrapped up, and I want Luna Burke headed for court. You’ve got 48 hours. If I don’t get all of it, you’re out.”

  He reached forward and severed the connection.

  Chapter 22

  At 5:45 on the dot Gunderman stopped his car in front of Elias’s house. He knocked on the door, wearing a neatly pressed shirt, slacks, and a navy jacket. Celia emerged in a flowered summer dress and gave him a reluctant smile. The hem brushed her legs as she walked to the car, unsteady in low heels. Elias appeared in the doorway of the clinic, waved, and went back inside.

  Gunderman stopped the car at the end of the driveway. A police car was parked across the road. As they passed, the officer raised a hand through his open window. “Hello, Celia!” called the officer. “Hello, Erik!”

  “Hi, Larry,” Celia called back, then turned an accusatory stare on Gunderman.

  “Did you really expect me to just leave?” asked Gunderman. “This is a chess match. You can’t say you didn’t know that.”

  Celia frowned and looked out the window. “I’m not your enemy,” said Gunderman.

  Celia gazed back at him. “I know you’re not,” she said. “You’re Luna’s.”

  Gunderman bowed his head slightly, unwilling to let her see how much this pained him. He could talk about the big picture until he was hoarse and it would make no difference to her. His was a world of absolutes, and hers was filled with exceptions. They rode to town in silence.

  • • •

  The covered eagle crate rested on the grass near the driveway. There was no sound, which meant Banshee was perching calmly. Elias stood beside her, scanning the edge of the woods. Two people emerged, carrying an identical crate.

  “Ben!” called Elias, and waved. Ben was lean and grey-haired, his companion small and stocky. Carefully they crossed the field and put the crate down in front of the flight cage. Ben and Elias hugged and clapped each other on the back. “Long time no see!” said Ben. “Meet Melody!”

  Elias shook her hand. “And here…“ finished Ben, pulling the cover from the crate, “…we have Confiscated Eagle Number Four, from now on known as Banshee!”

  “Fantastic,” said Elias. “How was the trip? Any trouble?”

  “Good trip,” said Ben. “No trouble.”

  “There’s a police car at the end of your road,” said Melody. “Can’t you just carry your eagle through the woods?”

  “We can’t, she’s too nervous. She’s okay in a car, but if her crate is unsteady she panics and starts thrashing. She’d break a wing.”

  “Then how are you going to get past the police?”

  Elias glanced anxiously at his watch. “If Owen doesn’t get here soon, that’ll be a good question.”

  “Look!” said Ben, and pointed to the black car rolling toward them. It stopped outside the office, executed a three-point turn, and backed up to the grass.

  “You’re taking Banshee in a hearse?” asked Melody.

  Owen was round and serene, with a soft voice and sandy hair just going grey at the temples. “Hello there, people,” he said warmly, as introductions were made. “Hello, birds,” he added, addressing both crates.

  “I need to get out of here,” said Elias. “Owen, will you help me put this crate in your car? Ben, you can get your eagle settled — food and water’s already in there. You sure I can’t offer you beds?”

  “Thanks, but we need to get back.”

  Owen and Elias slid Banshee’s crate into the empty hearse and shut the door. Ben and Melody started toward the flight cage, but paused at the sound of an engine. Another car was making its way down the driveway.

  “Oh, dear,” said Owen.

  Elias watched, his heart thudding. Gunderman, he thought. What happened?

  The car reached the office, stopped a few yards from the hearse, and two small faces peered through the backseat window. A door opened, and Wizzie slid out.

  “Pop!” she called. “What the heck are you doing?”

  A man emerged from behind the wheel. “Hey, Elias!” he exclaimed. “Hey, Owen! Is everything okay? Why is Officer Davis parked across the road?”

  “He’s taking a rest!” replied Elias. “And Owen is paying a social call!”

  “Okay, then catch you later. Anna’s come down with the stomach flu, so I’m dropping the girls off and running to the drugstore.”

  He waved goodbye and drove away. Wizzie dropped her overnight bag on the ground, looked pointedly at the hearse, and walked toward the group. She stopped in front of Elias.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me?” she asked.

  • • •

  The cozy Italian restaurant was at the corner of Maple and Baker. Celia and Gunderman sat a table beneath a trellis covered with roses, half-finished glasses of wine before them, each intently studying the decor.

  “I’m sorry if this is a difficult day for you,” said Gunderman, attempting at least a passable conversation. “Being the anniversary of your husband’s death, and all.”

  “This isn’t the anniversary,” said Celia. “It was in March.”

  Silence fell while they held each other’s gaze, each waiting for the other to speak. Just get through the dinner, Celia thought. Just give Dad time to do whatever he’s doing.

  “The actual day was in March,” she said, “but today’s the day we observe it.”

  Gunderman glanced at the other diners. When was the last time he’d been on a date? Or even hung out with friends? He remembered an outdoor bar in West Virginia where he and his fellow wildlife officers, newly graduated, were celebrating before splitting up into ten weeks of field training. He had lost touch with them over the years. His fault, not theirs.

  Too busy. He’d get to it later. He’d see them at the reunion, or maybe the next one. Since his daily routine brought him into contact with so many people, it became increasingly easy to spend his free time alone in the Loxahatchee. Surrounded by cattails and wading birds, reveling in the beauty of nature, he felt more and more connected to other species, and less and less to his own.

  A heart-shaped locket hung from Celia’s neck by a delicate gold chain. His eyes dropped to her slim hands, with their short nails, scrapes, and callouses, a band-aid wrapped around one finger. I’d want her on my side if war broke out, he thought, and drained his glass. “Would you like another?” he asked.

  “Yes, please,” she said.

  • • •

  Owen drove the hearse slowly and carefully down the driveway. Elias sat on the passenger side of the bench seat, Wizzie between them. “You’re not coming with me,” said Elias firmly. “We’ll drop Mr. Trumbull off at his house, then you can stay with him until Mom gets home.”

  “But Pop!” cried Wizzie. “You can’t do this by yourself! You need me!”

  “You’re not coming!”

  “I’ll be your road dog!”

  “My what?”

  “Elias?” said Owen. “Don’t forget, Officer Davis is parked on the other side of the road.”

  “Oh, Christmas,” said Elias.

  Owen’s serene smile began to fade. “He’s going to see you,” said Owen. “Will he stop us if he spots you?”

  “He won’t see us,” said Wizzie. “Hurry up, Pop, you get down on the floor there, and I’ll lie flat on the seat. See? It’ll look like Mr. Trumbull is driving all by himself.”

  The hearse stopped, accelerated slowly, and turned left. “You see?” whispered Wizzie. “You do need me.”


  “Have a good night, Owen!” called a voice from outside.

  “You too, Larry!” returned Owen, and waved his hand.

  • • •

  The light was fading as Celia and Gunderman finished their dinners. “What does the average American care about?” asked Celia, in her soft voice. “Reality shows and gadgets. They have no connection to wild things at all. They’re afraid, or they can’t be bothered, or they don’t see why they should care about the life of an otter. They don’t go out and look at the night sky. They’ve never been in a meadow in the springtime.”

  She paused. “You know something?” she asked. “Sometimes when I’m hiking, I stop and look at the sun through the pines. I watch the snow fall from the sky, or the rain sweep over the valley, and I think, I’m alone. I’m alone all the way out here in the woods, and it’s so beautiful that I’m never coming out.”

  Just don’t move, Gunderman’s grandmother used to say, and they’ll decide whether or not to trust you. Each afternoon at dusk he bundled into his coat and boots and sat on the snow, waiting for the deer to glide silently from the forest. He stayed immobile, grasping a handful of hay, his arm resting on his knee. Each time they came closer and closer, until one evening the most beautiful doe he’d ever seen stretched her neck and pulled the hay from his hand. Reflexively he pulled away, and the doe flinched and disappeared.

  He hesitated. “But…you do,” he forced himself to reply, before he lost his nerve. “You come out.”

  “Because of Wizzie,” said Celia. “And my dad. And the volunteers, and the animals. And because it’s so important to keep the wildlife and the wild places safe. Especially now. It’s a scary time.”

  He didn’t even hear the ring of his phone. Celia looked at him inquiringly. “Would you like to get that?” she asked.

  He pulled it from his jacket pocket. It was Officer Davis, saying his shift was ending. “Thank you,” said Gunderman. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” His eyes returned to hers.