by Jan Dunlap
Not the onion rings. They smelled great. I loved onion rings.
No, something else was beginning to stink.
Or, rather, someone.
And his name was Big Ben.
Chapter Thirteen
It was a nice night for owling. We’d picked a spot just about twenty minutes away from the hotel where a spread of old-growth forest offered plenty of roosting spots for owls. About five minutes into our walk through the woods, we spotted a Barred Owl perched at the entrance of a tree cavity. Since it was still dusky, we could just make out his dark eyes peering at us above his richly barred chest.
“Those black eyes always give me the creeps,” Bernie whispered at my shoulder. “All the other owls have nice yellow eyes. They’re like little night lights in their faces.”
“Barn owls have dark eyes,” Tom corrected her.
“Well, I’ve never seen one,” Bernie replied. “But I’d guess it looks pretty spooky, too, sitting there in the dark with its black eyes glowing.”
“But Barn Owls have the sweetest face shape, Bernie,” Shana told her. “It’s like a white heart. And because they’re so light in color, they’re easy to see even at night. I saw a lot of them in Central America while I was working for the Nature Conservancy. Some of the biologists there think that the Barn Owl population has dramatically increased in wet lowlands and highlands because so much of their native habitat is being destroyed by deforestation.”
She paused when a low hooting call sounded through the trees.
“Sounds like a Great Horned Owl,” I said. “I guess the deforestation hasn’t pushed more Barn Owls our way yet.”
Shana chuckled lightly. “Can you believe that Great Horned Owls are very rare in Central America?” Shana asked. “I think everyone in America lives within the calling distance of a Great Horned Owl, but it’s a real find down there.”
We walked a while longer, listening to the call of the Great Horned as it floated through the night. Shana’s casual comments about her work in Central America reminded me that I knew little about the woman walking beside me in a Fillmore County forest on a balmy June evening. While Jack’s involvement with conservation had been highly publicized in the last few years, Shana’s name had never surfaced. Yet her passion for her chosen field was clearly something she hadn’t put aside when she’d left her job to marry Jack. Even when she referred to it in passing, as she’d just done, I could hear an excitement just below the surface of her voice. I could hear it because it was the same excitement that I always felt when I started talking about birds. For the first time since I’d seen her in the hotel lobby last night, I wondered what it had cost her personally to give up her globe-trotting research career to become Mrs. Jack O’Keefe.
Considering how she and her stepson had nearly come to blows this afternoon in her hotel room, I’d guess the price had been plenty high. And judging from Chuck’s threats as he left Shana’s room in Sheriff Paulsen’s company, that price was only going to go higher. Not only did Jack’s son want to blame his stepmother for his father’s death, but he was bound and determined to let everyone know exactly what he thought of the second Mrs. O’Keefe.
And it wasn’t a very complimentary picture.
“I’m beat,” Bernie announced when the trail ahead of us started up a slight rise.
“I say we call it quits for the night.”
“I second it,” Tom said. He caught my eye and tipped his head in Shana’s direction. “I think we could all pack it in, Bob.”
I stole a quick look at Shana and agreed. Either the shadows were especially dark here, or the day had finally caught up with her, rimming her eyes with circles of fatigue.
“Last one back to the car is an extinct species,” I announced.
The closer we got to the parking area, though, the louder the Horned Owl calls became. As we rounded the last bend of the trail, we saw the reason why. Standing next to her green Ranger with its “Owl Aboard” back tire cover was Karla Kinstler, a longtime birding pal of mine, who also happened to be the director of the Houston Nature Center and the world-renowned International Festival of Owls. As always, Karla wasn’t alone. Perched on her wrist was Alice, the Great Horned Owl.
“Karla,” I called to her as we approached.
She and Alice both swiveled their heads in my direction.
“Hey, Bob,” she answered back. “I thought that was your car, especially since I don’t know anybody else with a ‘BRRDMAN’ license plate. What are you doing down here in my neck of the woods?”
“Owling, my dear,” I told her. I introduced her and Alice to my little crew. “Alice is an educational bird. She came to Karla when she was about eighteen months old. She was hit by a car, and her wing never healed properly to allow flight.”
“He’s talking about Alice, not me,” Karla added, laughing. “Alice works with me at the Nature Center. We present programs.”
“And Karla is also a world authority on Great Horned Owl vocalizations,” I noted. “In fact, I bet some of what we just heard was you, not Alice.”
Karla laughed again. “Guilty as charged. It was such a nice night, I thought Alice and I could both use a walk in the woods. I assume you heard some owls?”
I nodded, and Tom told her about the Barred Owl we’d seen.
“Really? I’m beginning to think we’ve got a little bump in the population of Barred Owls in Fillmore County this summer,” Karla said. “Last night I found one up near Kami Marsden’s place when I was leaving. Jack O’Keefe was there because he’s leading a Birding Weekend in Fillmore this weekend, and I told him he should take his group out tomorrow night to find one.”
For a second, I thought maybe I’d misheard her. I opened my mouth to ask her to repeat herself, but Shana beat me to it.
“You were at Kami’s last night? What time?”
Karla cocked her head to consider Shana. “What was your last name again?” she asked.
“O’Keefe,” Shana said.
“You’re Jack’s wife!” Karla gently rubbed her knuckle along Alice’s feathered breast. “He said you were here birding with his group this weekend. I’m pleased to meet you. You really lit a fire under him, you know. He’s doing great things for Minnesota with all his lobbying and support of the eco-communities. He’s just the guy we needed at the Capitol to put some muscle into our conservation efforts.”
Silence suddenly surrounded us.
Karla didn’t know about Jack.
“Jack was found murdered this morning, Karla,” I quietly told her. “He was shot at Green Hills Youth Camp.”
Karla leaned back against her car. Alice’s yellow eyes pinned each of us in turn.
“Oh no,” Karla breathed. “I just saw him last night. We were talking about the plans for the eco-community we want to border Kami’s land. Jack was so sure we could get the land-use permit approved and keep the ATV riders out of there, but this whole process of getting the zoning changed has been such a headache, and it’s taken so much time and effort. All those late night meetings …” her voice trailed off. “Oh, Shana, I am so sorry. Jack was such a good man.”
“Late night meetings?” Shana’s voice cracked.
“For months now,” Karla continued, “Kami and Jack have been hammering out zoning ordinances with the county. The ATV contingent kept showing up at the meetings, arguing and complaining that the land next to Kami’s isn’t suitable for anything besides a dirt track. I went to some of the sessions to offer moral support, but I usually just sat in the back, appalled at how nasty the fighting got. I thought this one guy—some big ATV fan—was going to slug it out with Jack right there one night. Those meetings really took a toll on Jack, I could tell. He usually just holed up at Kami’s for the night, rather than drive back to the Cities.”
I held up my hand for Karla to stop talking. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Jack was down here for late meetings about the eco-communities?”
Karla nodded.
“Kami and Jack weren’t �
� involved?”
Karla gave me a funny look, then shook her head vigorously. “I heard once that they were old high school sweethearts, but that was a long time ago.” She turned to Shana, who was leaning against my car parked next to Karla’s. “Jack was crazy about you, Shana. Don’t ever think anything different.”
An almost smothered sob slipped out of Shana’s lips as Bernie wrapped her arms around her. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tom moving closer to Shana’s other side, ready to catch her if she collapsed.
“Go back to last night again, Karla,” I said, refocusing my attention on her. “When did you leave Kami’s?”
Karla closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It was late. After midnight, I think.”
“Did you see any other cars on the road when you left? Was Jack still there?”
“Jack was still there.” She shot a glance at Shana who was now being seated in my SUV by Tom. “They weren’t involved, Bob. I know that for a fact. Kami and I are good friends, and she’d tell me.” She hesitated. “Besides, Kami’s involved with someone else, Bob. She keeps it quiet, and that’s all I’m going to say about it.”
I nodded in understanding. Nice to know somebody could keep something quiet in this county. Ever since I’d found Jack slumped over behind the covered wagon this morning, it seemed like the only thing everyone wanted to do was make noise—Chuck, Big Ben, the sheriff, the press, even Renee and her husband. I looked at Karla who was making a low hooting sound at Alice.
Okay, even Karla was making noise, albeit very softly.
“Now that I think about it, there was another car,” she said. “I passed it south and west of Kami’s farmhouse. It was by that seepage meadow on Rice Creek. I thought it was kind of late for someone to be out that way, but hey, I was out there.”
“You had a reason,” I reminded her. “You were talking with Kami and Jack. Did you say Rice Creek?” I asked as the name rang a bell inside my head. A bell with a very big tiger attached to it.
“Yup.”
I watched Karla slowly stroke Alice’s folded wing while my mind spun a little. Late last night, a car was in the vicinity of the seepage meadow.
The seepage meadow that abutted Kami’s wildlife sanctuary.
The same seepage meadow where a portion of her fencing was found ripped and torn aside this afternoon while Nigel lay peacefully stunned in the grass, thanks to Crazy Eddie’s electronic genius.
Aha. It wasn’t going to take a genius to put this two and two together.
Somebody deliberately cut Kami’s fence last night. Jack was nearby, at Kami’s place, at approximately the same time. The next morning, Jack turned up dead barely ten miles away. Conclusion?
Unfortunately, I had no idea.
Okay, so math has never been my strong suit. I was going to have to find someone else to do the addition.
My cell phone chirped in my pocket.
I took it out and looked in the window to see who was calling, but it read “Caller unknown.”
“White,” I answered.
“Something you should know.”
“Stan?”
“Jack cut off Ben. Chuck started it up again. On the sly. I tracked it.”
“What are you talking about? I’m trying to figure out Jack and the fence here. I don’t know anything about Jack and Ben. Or Chuck.” I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. I had an unlisted phone number. I’d never given it to Stan.
“Help Shana, White,” his voice carried out of the phone. “She’s a special lady.” And then he hung up.
The little window on my phone glowed brightly in the full darkness as I stuck it back in my pocket. I could have sworn Stan’s voice had softened just a fraction when he said Shana’s name, but I must have been mistaken. Stan wasn’t prone to empathy. He wasn’t prone to speaking much, either. In fact, one of these days I was going to tell Stan to feel free to use compound sentences with me, something more like what normal people used to converse. Maybe I’d even get him to go wild and put together a whole paragraph. As it was, talking with Stan was like listening in on a secret code, but never having the secret decoder ring to make any sense of it.
“Everything okay?” Karla asked.
I made a quick list in my head: Jack was murdered, his assistant was dead, Chuck wanted to arrest Shana, Big Ben lied about Jack and Kami to the press, someone wanted to give Nigel a free pass out of the sanctuary, Chuck was apparently sliding money to Big Ben without his father’s approval, and, within hours, my name was probably going to be linked with Shana’s in the most talked-about murder case of the decade.
Oh. And one more thing: I had yet to find a Northern Bobwhite.
I gave Karla my best “everything is under control” smile. “Absolutely,” I assured her, pulling open my car door. “It’s just been a long day, you know?”
“You can say that again,” Bernie piped up from the back seat. “I’m taking two aspirin when I get back to the hotel. I want to be sure I get a good night’s sleep. We’ve still got birds to find this weekend, and tomorrow’s another new day.”
Oh, joy. Just what I needed—Little Orphan Annie had come home to roost in my back seat in the shape of Bernie Schmieg. If she started singing, I was walking back to the hotel.
“Good to see you, Karla.” I waved good-bye as she and Alice got into her car and left the lot, then hopped into my own driver’s seat. I stole a glance at Shana in the seat beside me and noticed she was trying to read a small piece of paper with the meager light from the overhead car lamp. “What’s that?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s so odd. It’s a note on the hotel’s stationery, and it’s in Jack’s handwriting. I found it on the bedspread in my hotel room after Ben left. You know, before we went out the window.”
I vaguely remembered Big Ben picking up a jacket off Shana’s bed when he’d left us alone in the room.
“I think it may have slipped out of one of Ben’s pockets,” Shana continued. “I know it wasn’t there this morning when I went to meet everyone for coffee and rolls. I would have noticed a note on the bed.” She studied the paper again before looking at me in complete confusion. “I forgot all about it until just now when I was digging around for another tissue in my pocket. I don’t understand.”
She handed me the note, and I held it up to the roof light to read it.
“Yeah,” I said, “odd is one way to put it.”
Especially since it read “BEN—KILL BOBWHITE?”
Chapter Fourteen
I looked at the note again, hoping the magic wish fairy might have suddenly appeared and rewritten it to say “You won the lottery!” or “Beer is now free at your favorite liquor store!” But no, it still read “BEN—KILL BOBWHITE?”
“Okay. That’s it,” I groaned. “Someone stick a fork in me. I am so done.”
And then the note disappeared. Only it wasn’t the wish fairy making a belated appearance. Bernie was leaning over my shoulder, reading the note that was now clutched in her fingers.
“Ooh!” she gasped. “This explains everything!” Her eyes darted to my face, then Shana’s. “Jack knew about you two! He was insanely jealous. He planned to kill Bob this weekend while we were birding.”
“What about Bob and Shana?” Tom asked from the backseat.
“What?” Shana and I said at the same time.
“Well, it sounds good, doesn’t it? Just like one of those movies of the week on the cable channel. Love triangles, betrayal, revenge, murder. I love those movies! I can hardly peel myself away to microwave popcorn even during the commercial breaks.”
Bernie waved the note in excitement. “This clinches it. Jack must have sent this note to Ben after he checked into the hotel. He had it all planned out. He’d have Ben, his lifelong buddy, set up the hit on Bob because he was jealous of any of Shana’s male friends—even though he had no reason to be because we all know that Shana would never cheat on Jack, and that she’s crazy about him. Jack,
though, is insecure because he’s not getting any younger.” She turned to Shana. “Sorry, honey, but it’s the truth.”
“Bernie—” I tried interrupting, but she was on a roll now.
“But since Big Ben runs the show around here, no one would ever suspect him of being part of a murder plot, so Jack figures it’s the perfect crime. He asks Ben to kill Bob, and no one’s the wiser.”
“But I’m not the one who’s dead,” I reminded Bernie.
“Yeah,” she admitted, frowning at the hotel stationery in her hand. “That sort of messes up my plotline. I guess those television writers really do have their work cut out for them, don’t they?”
“What about Bob and Shana?” Tom asked again.
“Nothing!” I sputtered.
“We’re old friends,” Shana said. “That’s all. I didn’t even know Bob was going to be here this weekend till I saw him in the hotel lobby last night. Bob has nothing to do with Jack’s murder. Bob has nothing to do with anything.”
Gee, that sure told me where I stood in the grand scheme of things. I didn’t know if I should be relieved or disappointed: not a killer, but definitely insignificant.
Shana wasn’t finished, though. She plucked the note from Bernie’s fingers. “I don’t know what this is about,” she said, waving the bit of paper in the air. “But I do know one thing: Jack would never, ever, even think about killing someone, no matter what that person did.”
Stan’s words suddenly came back to me. “But he’d stop funding him, wouldn’t he?”
Shana’s eyes caught mine. In the dim glow of the overhead light, I could see no green in them, only a dark reflection of confusion that slowly gave way to suspicion. “How did you know that?” she whispered.
“A little birdie told me,” I answered. Then I wondered if she knew the other thing that little birdie had shared with me.
“But Chuck started the payments back up, Shana.”
Her face visibly paled even in the semi-darkness of the front seat of the car. “Stan found them,” she said, her voice flat. “That son-of-a-bitch.”