Never Murder a Birder

by Edie Claire

  “It’s still a little hard to believe that anyone else could look that much like you,” Bev said skeptically. “Are you sure you don’t have a twin?”

  Leigh laughed. “Believe me, if I did, I don’t think she would have escaped my family’s clutches. My mother is an identical twin herself. She would have strong feelings against separating another pair.”

  “And you’re definitely not adopted?”

  Leigh smirked. She had never thought she looked anything like her mother. Yet the number of times she had walked by a mirror lately and fleetingly mistook herself for a middle-aged Frances was disturbing. Besides which, Allison was a dead ringer for Leigh’s father. “Um… no.”

  “Then there must be another logical explanation,” Bev concluded.

  “I was thinking…” Sue began. But then her voice dropped and she resumed her pacing.

  “Will you cut that out?” Bonnie ordered. “You’re giving me whiplash! What are you thinking?”

  Sue stopped abruptly and stared at Bonnie. “Did you see… the foot?”

  Bonnie’s lip pursed. She nodded grimly. “Yes. What of it?”

  Sue lifted her chin and turned to Leigh and Bev. “I wish I didn’t have to bring this up. It may mean nothing. But…”

  “Oh!” Bonnie exclaimed with sudden understanding, her hand flying to her mouth.

  Leigh was missing something. “What is it?”

  Sue flitted about another moment before stopping in front of Leigh and taking her hand. “The body we saw… it was a woman. It was hard to tell much. But we could see one strappy high heel, so that much is certain. The only other thing was… well, we could see hair. Or at least part of it. It was wet, obviously, but… I’m guessing that it was about the same color as yours.”

  Leigh’s hand turned to ice.

  Sue promptly used both of hers to rub it. “It could mean absolutely nothing,” she soothed. “Half the women in the world have brown hair. I just thought you should know that if there is a woman out there who looks like you and is legitimately mixed up in something illegal—”

  “My doppelganger,” Leigh said tonelessly. “Somebody killed her.”

  “Now, that’s definitely putting the cart before the horse!” Bev chided. She promptly poured Leigh a cup of hot coffee, then handed her a third macaroon.

  “But the Finneys couldn’t have done it…” Leigh continued, thinking out loud. “They think I killed her! But how could I kill myself?”

  “Good Lord, now she’s lost it,” Bonnie bemoaned.

  Keep this between you and me and you can be out of here in an hour, Bruce had said. If he didn’t realize that Leigh’s doppelganger was the victim, who did he think the body was? Did he not believe there was a body? Or did he think Leigh was some random serial killer? He didn’t seem to give a hoot either way as long as she gave him what he wanted. But what did he want? What could possibly be so important to him that he would risk working with a raging murderess to get it?

  Leigh clapped her hands over her face. “It makes no sense,” she said, her words muffled. “And if it makes no sense, it can’t be right.”

  “Maybe I should get you one of Hank’s valiums,” Bonnie offered.

  “No, thank you,” Leigh replied quickly, pulling her hands down. “I’m not losing my mind. But I could use a little time alone to process all this. Preferably with a cat on me. Purring lowers blood pressure, you know.”

  “Of course, dear,” Bev said quickly. “You go right ahead.”

  “We’ll walk you over,” Sue offered.

  Leigh felt like a preschooler as the two older women walked her from the park office all the way to the door of Joyce’s motorhome. But she did appreciate their concern. After they made sure she had both of their numbers and reminded her that the Grande had security cameras covering every angle of the park 24/7, they left her alone behind the locked door. Leigh collapsed on the comfortable king-sized bed, and within seconds Snowbell was doing her part at human blood-pressure reduction.

  Leigh’s mind was far from settled, however. As little as she wanted to believe that the woman whose body had surfaced this morning was her mysterious double, the idea had a disturbing feel of truth to it. Bruce’s words to her had been specific. You said three days. And he definitely acted as if those three days were up.

  With a rush, Janelle’s words came back to her as well. When Leigh had asked why the executive was following her, what had Janelle’s surprised answer been? Don’t you want me to? And when she’d first met Russell at the beach, he’d acted as if he expected Leigh to take the initiative.

  They all wanted something, yes. But they were waiting to hear from her.

  We need to meet, Bruce had said.

  Leigh’s heart beat faster. Yes, of course that was it. They were all waiting for her to set up a meeting with them! Sharonna’s snooping was still a little irrational, but from the sounds of it, so was Sharonna. The sibs had been waiting for this woman to contact them, and when she didn’t, they had gotten frustrated. When they confronted Leigh and she had acted ignorant, both Russell and Janelle had backed off, even though they clearly thought she was lying. Why? Did they suspect their real contact had a legitimate reason to play it coy? To hide her true mission? To watch her back?

  Quite clearly, she did. Someone had murdered her.

  A fresh wave of dizziness washed over Leigh. Someone had killed a woman who looked so much like her that at least four local people couldn’t tell the two of them apart.

  Could the murderer?

  Chapter 19

  Leigh’s mind wouldn’t settle enough for her to take the nap she so desired. But Snowbell did succeed in purring her cat-sitter into a reasonably comfortable state of semi-consciousness, which Leigh remained in for quite some time before the ringing of her cell phone jarred her rudely back to alertness. “Hello,” she answered, seeing Hap’s name on her caller ID.

  “Hey, darlin’,” he replied. “Listen, I’ve got some news for you. I shouldn’t have it, probably, but I do. My buddy Carl’s daughter, Bobby Jo — she’s going to get herself fired someday over those loose lips of hers — she’s saying that the Rangers have got a pretty good idea who the woman was that… well, that you folks found earlier.”

  Leigh sat up. “The body’s been identified? But how could it happen so quickly? I mean… Sue and Bonnie said—”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard the story from Bev, honey,” he assured. “I’m sorry you had to be there, but I sure am glad you didn’t have to see this one, too. Anyway, the way I understand it, it’s not like an autopsy’s been done yet or anything. But word is the general description and personal effects match a missing-persons report from Corpus. It’s a long way from official, but still, it sounds like everybody down at the station considers it pretty cut and dried.”

  Loud noises coming from outside distracted Leigh’s already scattered thoughts. She scooped up a limp Snowbell — who was rarely bothered by any noise — and stepped to the window. The RV next door was moving out.

  Serial-killer hysteria was spreading.

  Leigh moved away from the window and refocused. She picked up a pen and note pad and sat down at the dining table. “Please tell me what you know about her,” she asked Hap.

  “Her name was Eva Menlin. She’s from New York City, but she was last seen in Corpus Christi. Her husband was expecting her home Wednesday night and she never got on the plane.”

  Leigh scribbled furiously. “Could you spell her name for me? What else do you know?”

  “That’s it, honey,” Hap replied, after giving her the spelling. “Bobby Jo just said that her husband described the jewelry she was wearing or something like that, and it was a match.”

  Leigh let out a long, slow breath. Thinking of the mystery woman as a real person with a real husband was terribly depressing, whether she was a criminal or not. “Thanks so much, Hap.”

  “Now, you’re not planning on going out anywhere, are you?” he warned. “Bev told me they were making sur
e you stayed put the rest of the day.”

  Leigh smiled self-consciously. She never would have imagined that being constantly spied upon by a bunch of retirees with high-powered binoculars would have a relaxing effect, but oddly enough, it did. “I’m staying put,” she agreed.

  “Good girl.” Hap repeated Bev’s earlier invitation for the grilled shrimp dinner, then rang off. The motorhome next door loomed large in the front windows as it began to pull out into the street, and Snowbell hopped off Leigh’s lap to watch the action. Before Leigh could rise also, however, her cell phone buzzed again. It was another video call from Allison.

  Leigh looked around for a focal point other than her own face, and decided to point the camera towards Snowbell. “Hey, honey!” she greeted, trying her best to make her voice sound as though she’d spent the day hunting for seashells and shopping for souvenirs. “How’s everybody doing at home?”

  Allison, who was sitting outside on her Aunt Cara’s screened porch with a suspiciously bloated-looking corgi in her lap, looked into her own phone’s camera and scowled. “Mom, seriously. Don’t even. You are so bad at faking.”

  “Excuse me?” Leigh said resentfully. “You can’t even see me!”

  “Don’t need to,” Allison said tiredly. “So, did you find this last body, too, or what?”

  Leigh turned the phone back to her face. It was too much effort to look at Allison from an angle. Besides, triple chin or no, one never knew when a mother-glare might be indicated. “I did not find the body!” she protested. “And how do you know about that, anyway?”

  “Local news plus internet,” Allison answered. “How else am I supposed to keep up with what’s happening down there when you won’t tell me?”

  At the sound of Leigh’s voice in the phone, Chewie’s giant ears perked, and he raised his head. But when no recognizable sight of his mistress followed, his sausage-shaped body quickly went slack again. “What have you been feeding that dog? He looks like he just gorged on an entire box of dog biscuits!”

  Allison rubbed the corgi’s belly affectionately. “More like fettuccine alfredo.”

  “What?”

  “Mom, don’t worry. I already got Grandpa on the phone and had him yell at Uncle Gil. Chewie will be fine. In fact, he may never want to go home again. But that’s not why I called. I want to know if you need me to look anything else up. I’m bored here. I need a mission.”

  Snowbell raced suddenly from the front of the motorhome to the bedroom at the back, looking like a miniature blizzard.

  “Eva Menlin,” Leigh proclaimed, resigning herself to fate and giving Allison the new information from Hap. “Let me know anything you can find out about her.”

  Leigh’s camera view had moved to a picture of Cara’s porch ceiling, probably because Allison was writing in her pocket notebook. “You think she was your lookalike?” Allison asked, sounding ill at ease.

  Mother-guilt attacked again. “I don’t know,” Leigh said quickly. “But there’s no need to worry about me. I have a whole army of birders watching my every move, and I’m under lock and key and on camera besides. Really. I’ll be fine.”

  A weird scratching noise was coming from the motorhome’s bedroom.

  The camera switched back to Allison’s face. The girl looked concerned, but determined. “I’m on it, Mom. Just let me get to the computer and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  “Wait a minute,” Leigh said, an odd thought dawning. “Why are you outside, anyway? Isn’t it cold there?”

  Allison smiled a little. “No, actually. It’s been awesome weather here. It’s been sunny and in the sixties today.”

  “That is so… great,” Leigh replied.

  Allison laughed out loud. “Lame, Mom. Very lame. Bye!”

  Snowbell was making an odd growling sound. Leigh had taken exactly three steps in her direction when her phone rang again — this time with a call from Bev.

  “Bev?” Leigh said quickly, having a bad premonition. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, honey,” Bev answered, sounding stressed. The cat made another weird noise back in the bedroom, this one more like a cluck. “It’s just that the motorhome in slot #32 is moving out, and it didn’t occur to me until right this second, but Joyce asked me to warn her if anybody ever moved in next door to them with a cat—”

  “But nobody else has moved in yet!”

  “No,” Bev continued, “but the Edwards in slot #33 have two Russian blues, and I was just thinking that since there’s no longer a motorhome blocking the—”

  Leigh dropped the phone. But it was already too late. She reached the bedroom to find a spastic Snowbell tearing from the side window across the top of the bed to the opposite wall. Then the cat scurried halfway up the blind, back down on the bed, across the bed, up the built-in chest of drawers, across the big-screen TV, down the big-screen TV, up onto the bed again, across the spread, down onto the floor, under the spread, out from under the spread, back up the chest of drawers…

  Leigh scrambled to the window and pulled down the blind. She raced to every other window on that side of the motorhome and pulled down those blinds. She turned on the sound system and played mood music with jungle birds. She found a can of air freshener and doused the RV in the scent of lilacs. Then she collapsed on the bedroom floor.

  “Snowbell?” she called into the bathroom. She was pretty sure the cat had wound up hiding in the shower. But trying to chase her was definitely contraindicated. “The evil kitties are all gone now. It’s safe to come out. Are you okay?”

  Leigh heard nothing. She stuck her head around the bathroom door and saw Snowbell sitting on top of the closed toilet seat. Her little pink tongue hung out as she panted.

  The worst was over.

  Leigh crawled back and found her phone. Bev had hung up, but Leigh texted her to say that everything was okay. She was still sitting in the floor when a key turned in the lock and Warren opened the door.

  He walked up the steps, looked at her curiously, and sniffed the air. Then he set his briefcase down and loosened his tie. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “Don’t,” Leigh suggested. She got to her feet, kissed him hello, then hurried back into the bedroom, where she hastily rolled the bedcoverings into a ball. “On a totally unrelated note — how would you like to run by the laundromat before dinner?”

  “The laundromat? Isn’t there a washer and dryer in the bathroom?”

  Leigh looked down at the heavy comforter in her arms. No way would it fit in the motorhome’s compact little units. “Yes, but… I thought an hour or so at a laundromat would be a fun thing to do on a Friday night.”

  Warren watched her skeptically as she placed the roll of bedding on the floor by the door. He sniffed the air again.

  Leigh forced a smile. “Snowbell doesn’t like the other kitties.”

  Her cell phone rang again. It was Allison. Already?!

  “Warren,” she said apologetically. “I know I should have called you earlier, but I didn’t want to distract you — I thought it would be better if you could finish as soon as possible and just come home. But there have been some new developments today…”

  He did not appear pleased.

  She answered the phone. “Allison? You have something already?”

  “Of course I do,” came the small, yet confident voice. “Are you ready?”

  “Wait a minute,” Leigh suggested. She took Warren’s hand and led him to the dining table, where they both sat down. She pulled her pen and paper back out and put Allison on speaker phone, then told Warren about the most recent discovery, conveniently omitting her own involvement. “So you see,” she finished gently, “it looks like my mystery double’s been found.”

  Warren’s expression changed from frustrated to horrified.

  “Um… no, Mom,” Allison proclaimed. “I don’t think so. You can take a look at her picture yourself — I put all the deets in an email for you. But I’m telling you, she looks nothing like you.”


  Warren breathed out with relief. “Well, that’s good news, anyway.”

  “But that’s not possible!” Leigh argued. “She has to be the one!” As comforting as it was not to be a dead ringer for a dead woman, she couldn’t bear to have all her logical progress undone… again.

  “Trust me,” Allison insisted. “She has a long, thin face and a big nose and she’s just… no. But there’s a whole lot else that’s interesting about her. Get this, Dad. Eva Menlin has a pretty unusual profession. She’s a diamond trader. Like, one of the big ones.”

  Warren sat up straighter. “A diamond trader?”

  “Yep,” Allison confirmed. “She lives in Manhattan with her husband, who’s a lawyer. He’s the one who reported her missing. She was on a business trip in Corpus Christi when she dropped out of contact. Then she missed her flight home. The date of last contact on the report was Tuesday.”

  Leigh watched her husband’s face and could see that an idea was brewing in his mind. “What does it mean?” she asked.

  “Did you see anything about her business contacts?” Warren asked Allison. “Any link to Finney Enterprises?”

  “No,” Allison answered. “But so far I’ve just looked at the obvious things. Missing Persons’ database. Local news reports. Social media. I can do some more digging later, but I wanted to get this to you first.”

  “Thanks, honey,” Warren praised. “This is very helpful.”

  Leigh thanked Allison also, and then they hung up. Warren had leaned back in the chair, and he appeared to be deep in thought.

  “What does it mean?” Leigh repeated. “What is a diamond trader, exactly?”

  Warren put a hand to his face and stroked his chin. “In the diamond business, you have dealers in each source country who buy directly from the miners. Then you have buyers who travel to those countries to secure the diamonds. Traders are the next step in the line. They either purchase diamonds from the buyers or they’ll fund the buyers’ purchase of them. Either way, large amounts of cash are exchanged, so it’s a high-stakes, high-trust business. The most successful traders have a long history in the business and a select list of contacts, and the networks tend to be family-related. It’s not something you just wake up one morning and decide to do.”