Never Murder a Birder

by Edie Claire

  Bev chuckled. “That was high praise, wasn’t it? Lord, I miss that old buzzard.”

  Leigh sat up a little. She had done her best not to dwell on the bizarre conversation she’d overheard during her nap, which had almost certainly come from two of the squabbling Finney siblings. But her best wasn’t good enough. As unlikely as it seemed that her down-to-earth cousins were tight with a billionaire, she was definitely getting that impression. “You knew him well?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes.” Bev shot a sideways glance at her husband. “Not everybody around here realized that, though. You should explain, Hap.”

  Hap squirmed a bit in his seat, then took a swig from his can of beer. His voice lowered. “I don’t suppose it matters anymore, but… Well, Cortland was the kind of guy who could go to work at that downtown office of his and hassle with all the suits and do a damn good job of it, but that’s not really who he was. If he had his druthers, he’d be sitting on a boat all day with a fishing rod in one hand and a beer in the other, talking about nothing at all. When Deb was alive he’d go home to that big old place of theirs in the evening, but after she passed, he got lonely. He started coming down to the hotel and shooting the bull with me and, well… once he tasted Bev’s cooking, we couldn’t get rid of him.”

  Bev chuckled again. “Now, you know there’s more to it than that. That man was genuinely fond of you, honey. Because he could talk to you.” She looked at Leigh with a face full of pride. “Hap’s a good listener,” she explained. “I wouldn’t say the rich and famous Mr. Finney lived a double life, but some days it seemed pretty close to it. If he got fed up he’d ditch that office, change into some old clothes and come sneaking around here looking for Hap.”

  “Sneaking around?” Warren asked.

  “Well, everybody around here knew Cortland, you see,” Hap explained. “And for somebody famous, he sure hated fame. Couldn’t blame him with so many folks asking for loans and handouts, once he and Deb made it big. But aside from that nuisance, he just got tired of being Mr. Big. He wanted to walk down the street like anybody else and be left the hell alone.”

  “That’s why he liked it here,” Bev cut in, sweeping a hand around the central courtyard of the Mesten Grande RV Resort. The greenspace was nestled in the middle of a maze of gently curving, brightly lit streets filled with motorhomes, each of which had a small paved patio and a plot of grass around it. “This place was Cortland’s pet project, you know. He was right proud of it. But the best part for him was that it’s always filled with outsiders. So he could sit out here with us and grill some fish or have a beer and no one had a clue who he was.”

  “Whenever anyone would ask, we’d just call him Uncle Herman,” Hap said with a laugh. “He got a kick out of that.”

  Leigh noted again the depth of feeling in her cousin’s eyes. Hap had indeed been close to Cortland Finney. But she could swear she heard more in his strained tone than grief at a friend’s passing.

  “What did he die of?” she asked impulsively. “Was it unexpected?”

  Hap nodded solemnly. “He had an artery rupture near his heart. No real warning, no family history or anything.”

  “It was such a shame,” Bev lamented. “He kept saying he needed to redo his will.”

  Hap’s second uncomfortable squirm did not go unnoticed, either by Leigh or his wife.

  “What’s eating you?” Bev asked. Then her voice turned sharp. “Don’t tell me Sharonna’s back! Already?”

  “All right,” Hap said quietly. “I won’t tell you.”

  Bev made a growling sound low in her throat. For a woman of her size, it was surprisingly deep. And loud. “Nobody on earth gets under your skin like that woman!”

  “Peaches, I can think of a whole lot of things I’d rather talk about after a fine meal like this than Sharonna Finney,” Hap answered with resignation. Then he threw a somewhat sheepish look at Leigh and Warren. “But she is staying next door to you folks, so if it gets too loud up there, you just let me know and I’ll move y’all downstairs.”

  “You expect her to be loud?” Leigh asked. She knew the answer already, but she wanted to hear Hap say it.

  He sighed. “Sharonna doesn’t have the best social skills, you could say.”

  Beverly scoffed. “That’s generous. The woman’s got a whole host of problems — having no filter on her mouth’s only one of them. She’ll say whatever comes to her mind, with no thought to anybody else.”

  “True enough,” Hap agreed. “Anyway, she can be annoying. So just let me know, all right?”

  “I’m sure it will be no problem,” Warren said politely. “I haven’t heard a thing.”

  Hap looked skeptical. “I wouldn’t have put you guys up there except it’s the second best room in the house, and Sharonna just checked out a couple days ago — I was surprised to see her again.”

  “It’s no problem,” Leigh soothed, knowing otherwise. If they wanted peace and quiet, they should definitely switch rooms. Tonight. She should say so.

  “There’s something else,” Hap said anxiously, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I’m sorry to have to bring up such a thing, but if you’re hanging around town this week you’re bound to hear it some—”

  “They’ve identified the body, haven’t they?” Leigh blurted.

  All eyes stared at her. Realizing the non sequitur, Leigh wished she could withdraw the question. Why thinking about Sharonna had put her in mind of the body on the beach, she could not explain. The conversation Leigh had overheard in the room next door had included nothing about a corpse. The fact that she had instinctively disliked both Sharonna and her unnamed brother did not entitle her to add two and two and get twelve.

  “Sorry,” Leigh stammered. “I just got the feeling you’d heard something since the last time we talked, Hap.”

  Hap raised his thin white eyebrows. “Well, I guess you’re right. I did. Got the word a little while ago from my buddy Carl.”

  Bev drew in a sharp breath. “It wasn’t anybody local, was it?”

  “No,” Hap said quickly. “It was a businessman from Corpus Christi. Some guy named Ted Sullivan. I never heard of him.”

  The relief that statement might be expected to bring did not materialize. It was too obvious that Hap was still troubled. “But Cortland knew him,” he continued. “Must have. He’d been working in the family business for years. He was a bean counter. Most recently he was their Chief Financial Officer.”

  The table went quiet again.

  “Well,” Bev asked, “how did it happen?”

  Hap shook his head. “They’ll have to do an autopsy. But it’s hard to see how a man like that dresses himself for work one day and accidentally ends up in the Gulf of Mexico.”

  Leigh wondered if Sharonna had known as of this afternoon. But this time she was able to keep her mouth shut.

  “Does Sharonna know?” Bev asked. “Is that why she’s back?”

  Leigh had a feeling she and her cousin’s wife were going to get along just fine.

  “She was in the lobby when I found out,” Hap said. “She came in to complain about some fool thing, and that was when Carl called. Sharonna stuck around to eavesdrop and then practically went hysterical. I couldn’t tell if she knew the man personally or not — I didn’t think she ever set foot in her daddy’s office unless Cort was cutting her a check. But she was upset about something. She went on and on about what a disaster this would be for the business, and then she ran out.” He shook his head, perplexed. “God only knows.”

  Bev stood, giving apologetic looks to Leigh and Warren. “I’m sorry for all this gloom and doom at your welcome dinner, but I had a feeling Hap had something to get off his chest.” She stepped behind her husband and began to massage his beefy shoulders. “Now, darlin’, you know that woman’s not dealing with a full deck. She hasn’t been since her mother died, and probably not before then, either. But there’s not a thing you can do about it. She’s an adult, and as long as she’s not hurting anybody the c
onstitution says she’s got a perfect right to make an ass of herself.”

  “I know,” Hap said glumly.

  “If Cortland couldn’t or wouldn’t do anything for her, you certainly can’t, so stop feeling guilty,” Bev continued. “As for whatever happened to this CFO, that’s got nothing to do with us. You know Cortland never talked business while he was here. I always figured he had good reason. Didn’t you?”

  Hap’s face went red. “What are you saying exactly? Cort was an honest businessman!”

  Bev perked an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

  Hap turned his head to frown at her. “Beverly!”

  “Okay, okay!” she recanted, renewing her massage. “I’m just saying. Once you get to that level of success, there’s bound to be some funny business going on somewhere or other down the line. And there’s no telling what’s been happening in those swanky downtown offices since the kids took over.”

  Hap looked thoroughly miserable.

  Bev finished off his shoulder massage with a series of energetic karate chops, then turned to her guests with a smile. “All right, now! Who’s ready for dessert?”

  Chapter 4

  Leigh woke up the next morning with the purest of intentions for a day full of fresh air and healthy exercise. The sky was overcast and occasional rain a near certainty, but she refused to be discouraged. She merely donned her waterproof jacket, put an expandable umbrella in her backpack, and headed out the door. She would stop into the lobby only for a cup of coffee and perhaps a quick bite of fruit, but no more, because she didn’t deserve it. Not only did she have two helpings of Beverly’s blackberry cobbler after dinner last night, but she’d even had the nerve to creep down to the lobby at 2AM and finish off the last blueberry muffin from yesterday. (Conveniently enough, the millennial supposedly manning the desk had been sound asleep at the time.) She really couldn’t help herself. After such a long nap earlier, she couldn’t sleep. And she knew the muffin was down there…

  No matter. Today she would make a fresh start of it.

  She opened the door to the lobby and was surprised to see Bev sitting behind the counter instead of Hap. “Good morning!” her cousin-in-law called cheerfully, hopping off the stool and heading immediately for the mini refrigerator.

  “Good morning,” Leigh returned, her hopes fading fast. “Oh, Bev. Don’t tell me you made more of those fabulous blueberry muffins! You really don’t have to feed me breakfast every morning.”

  “Breakfast?” Bev disputed with a motherly pucker of her eyebrows. “I’d say it’s halfway to lunch by now!”

  Leigh smiled self-consciously. After last night’s sugar raid, she had indeed overslept. “I’m sorry if you were waiting on me. All I need is some caffeine and maybe an apple or something, and then I thought I’d check out the museum—”

  “Looky here!” Bev said triumphantly, swinging up a platter laden with grapes, honeydew slices, and two gargantuan vanilla-iced cinnamon rolls. “You want me to heat one of these up for you?”

  Have mercy. “Oh,” Leigh said faintly, her traitorous stomach grumbling aloud. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Thought so,” Bev smirked, popping one of the confections in the microwave.

  Leigh thanked her and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Where’s Hap?”

  “He’s over at the RV park this morning,” Bev answered. “We trade off sometimes.” The confusion on Leigh’s face prompted her to elaborate. “Cortland bought the hotel first, and then he bought the land next to it and built the Mesten Grande. Hap and I manage them both, but he does more of the desk duties while I handle the community activities at the park. That was part of the deal we struck with Cortland, so we could move our own place over there. We were on the other side before.”

  In the considerably less high-toned Mesten Acres, Leigh surmised. “I see.”

  “Cort owned a lot of real estate around here,” Bev continued. “He loved the town, and he invested in it whenever he had the cash to spare. God only knows what will happen to all his bits and pieces now, though.”

  The microwave dinged, and Bev handed Leigh the warmed cinnamon roll on a plate with a napkin. Leigh sat down and dove in. She had been trying to forget the conversation she’d overheard between the Finney heirs yesterday afternoon, but the transcript was firmly lodged in her brain. Although she’d said nothing to Hap about it, she suspected his worries about his friend’s legacy were legit. “The kids” were up to no good.

  “The will’s still tied up in court, then?”

  Bev shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest. No one knows anything. Bruce — that’s the oldest, he’s more or less in charge, now — he told us they were going to sell the hotel and the RV park both. But that was nearly a year ago, and we haven’t heard a thing since. Still, we might not hear a peep until it’s all said and done.”

  Leigh finished the roll. It was insanely good. But she would not eat the other one. At least not now. She distracted herself with the honeydew until a man with a suitcase entered the lobby, ready to check out. Bev went back to work, and Leigh returned the rest of the platter to the fridge, thanked her hostess, and excused herself.

  She made it exactly four blocks before dodging inside a tropically themed coffee shop to use the restroom. When she emerged, she headed to the counter to order a cappuccino and found herself standing next to a uniformed policeman.

  Friggin’ fabulous.

  “Morning, Chief,” a girl in a ponytail and work apron greeted him from behind the counter. “What can I get for you?”

  “Aw, just a regular cup of joe, thanks, Kathy,” he answered. The chief was a relatively unimposing man of middle height and weight, but Leigh still felt a desperate urge to turn tail and run. Stop that, she chastised herself. He hasn’t the faintest idea who you are! How could anybody know your name down here? She forced herself to stay put and act natural as the chief paid for his coffee and moved to the side.

  “And what can I get for you, ma’am?” the girl asked.

  Leigh cringed. She hated being called ma’am. Even if she was getting old enough to justify it. “A small cappuccino, please.”

  The creepy feeling assailed her just as she reached out to accept her change. She knew, without turning, that someone was staring at her. Moreover, she realized that whoever it was must have been staring at her for some time now, tipping the offense out of random chance and well into the discomfort zone.

  Was it the chief?

  Please, no.

  Her heart pounded as she allowed her gaze to slide ever so casually to her left along the counter, in the general direction of the icky vibes. Her eyes met a pair of beady brown ones, deep-set below a protruding brow bone. The man’s hair was dark, his lips pale and thin. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but he didn’t look like a tourist, either, as he was dressed in a high-end business casual outfit. His expression was brooding, and his regard was intense. Yet when Leigh pivoted to engage with him fully, his eyes left her. He took the fresh cup of coffee he’d been holding and, without another glance, walked away to a table and sat down.

  Well, Leigh thought to herself, trying to shake off the unnerving episode, at least it wasn’t the chief, right?

  But she couldn’t let it go easily. Not when the chief himself, after receiving his coffee, went and joined creepy-man at the table for two. And not when, as Leigh waited forever for her cappuccino to be foamed, she caught the brown eyes drifting to her humble figure not one or two, but three more times.

  She watched the police chief as well, but he paid no attention to her. He merely relaxed in his chair and chattered away at his inattentive buddy as if it didn’t matter whether he was being listened to or not.

  When Leigh’s drink was finally in her hands, she made her way to the door. Sure enough, the brown eyes followed her every step. Her plan was to go to the museum half a block to the right, but on instinct she hung a left instead, then walked the long way around.

  Out of an abundance of caution, she told herself as s
he panted. She shouldn’t be out of breath. She hadn’t walked far, and it wasn’t hot. What was wrong with her?

  She was totally freaked out. That was what.

  She swung into the museum’s front door and collapsed on a bench. She had not seen the men on the street outside just now. She was safe.

  “Welcome!” a thin but perky voice said excitedly. Leigh looked up to see a small, very old man hunched over a metal quad cane in front of her. “We’re so happy you’ve chosen to visit the Port Mesten Museum! Would you like a guided tour?”

  Leigh would not, actually, as she preferred to meander about such places on her own. But the friendly little man looked so excited she couldn’t bear to disappoint him. She rose to her feet again, and he proceeded to lead her slowly around the main level of what had once been a grand little foursquare home. As he explained the different sections of the museum and what historical delights she was sure to uncover there, Leigh tried hard to get a grip on what had frightened her.

  Two days. Two different men. Only one had approached her, while the other had made no effort to. But both of them had stared at her with the same, unaccountable look in their eyes. Not friendship. Not politeness. Not even the hunger of a predator for its prey. Certainly not garden-variety lust.

  It was a look of recognition.

  They knew her. But how could they? And if they thought they did, why hadn’t they said so?

  Leigh’s gaze floated over old sepia-toned photographs of laborers hauling rocks to build the jetties and scrap lumber left in the wakes of hurricanes. She suspected that what her guide was telling her was truly interesting; it was unfortunate that she couldn’t take in a word of it.

  Was it possible that she resembled someone else in town? She recalled the inane saying that everyone in the world had a double somewhere. She had never believed it, but right now she wished she could. If she looked similar enough to someone local, someone both of those men knew, she would at least have some explanation for their bizarre behavior. Maybe they didn’t know the mystery woman all that well, and were therefore unsure if Leigh was her. Perhaps they hadn’t seen Ms. X in a while, and didn’t want to make a wrong assumption. The idea was plausible, at least.