Rant of Ravens

by Goff, Christine

  “No.”

  “Nothing sent by e-mail?”

  “He didn’t say.” Rachel pondered this new line of questioning. Most companies were online, so it made more sense if Bursau e-mailed his notes to the office. In which case, the disks probably served as his version of hard copy. Or as a way to deliver information to the highest bidder.

  The sheriff finger-combed his mustache. “Thanks for the tip about Udall. I’ll check him out, and call his editor on Monday.”

  “You never answered Rachel’s question, Vic,” said Charles.

  “What question is that?”

  “What possible reason do you think any of us would have for rifling Miriam’s study?”

  The sheriff slapped his hand against the butt of his gun and pointed at Charles. “The way I see it, Charles, you would do almost anything to protect Miriam.”

  Even murder someone? Rachel studied the man carefully. His gray hair was cut in military fashion: short, clean around the ears. His blue eyes glinted like steel. “You’re right, Vic. I would.”

  “And Eric might be protecting her, too, though I think he’s more apt to be protecting the Raptor House.” Garcia balanced on the balls of his feet, then settled back on his heels. “With three birds missing and one guy dead, I figure he’s got to be worried about keeping his job. Throw in a whiff of illegal activity, and the feds are apt to close down the operation out here.”

  Eric’s face hardened. His lips paled. It was clear Garcia had struck a nerve.

  “And what’s my motive, Sheriff?” asked Forest. He appeared to be genuinely curious. And, for that matter, so was Rachel.

  “Now that’s another matter. I think you’re somewhere on the other side. Whereas these three are looking to avoid a scandal, you want to expose the wrongdoing to the world.”

  “What good would that do anyone?” asked Rachel

  “For starters, it ends access to Rocky Mountain National Park through your aunt’s land,” Garcia said. “I’ve been doing some research. It seems that after William Tanager died, your aunt tied the public access to the trailheads at the back of her property to the park’s operation of the Raptor House.”

  That was a new wrinkle, but from what Forest had told them about his pending legislation, denying access through Bird Haven played heavily in his favor. “Sheriff, do you know that Mike Johnson was up here on Monday night and could have placed that telephone call?”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “Then let me ask you a question. You suspect that my aunt, and maybe an accomplice, murdered Bursau, stole the three birds from the Raptor House, and then disappeared, correct?”

  “Not exactly. I just haven’t eliminated any of the suspects yet.”

  “So we’re all considered suspects?”

  The sheriff nodded. “I guess you could say that.”

  “Then why would my aunt’s accomplice tear apart her study? Wouldn’t Aunt Miriam have just told him where to look for whatever it is she wanted?”

  The sheriff massaged the back of his neck. “I thought of that. You have a point.”

  “What I think this break-in proves is that Aunt Miriam has something somebody wants. Something somebody would go to great lengths to get.”

  “Maybe even that Udall fellow,” Forest had regained some of his composure. “If Bursau sold out the story, that’s reason enough for Udall to want to retrieve the disks.”

  “Maybe even see Bursau dead,” Eric added.

  “Or,” Garcia said, “that might be how someone wants it to look.”

  Rachel had heard enough. It seemed like the sheriff twisted everything to make Aunt Miriam look guilty. And Rachel hated to believe one of the EPOCH members was involved. The thought of one of them being a murderer made her stomach flip-flop. With her brother, Ben, in Alaska, her father and grandmother in Chicago, and Miriam missing, the EPOCH members were all she had. “Do you really think Aunt Miriam killed that man?”

  “No. I’m just trying to find out where she is.”

  “That’s all I’m asking,” Rachel said, exhaling loudly. Somehow they had to be missing something. Something important. But what?

  She replayed the scenes leading up to this point: the argument between Miriam and Bursau, pushing through The Thicket, Lark hissing, stumbling over the dead man’s foot, two birds flushing, one flying away. What was she forgetting? The bird! It had had something gripped in its beak. And she’d seen a flash of light. “That’s it!”

  Garcia’s eye’s narrowed. “What’s it?”

  “The night I found the body. I saw two birds come up out of the bush. One was the LeConte’s sparrow. He settled back down. But the raven carried something off. I’m sure of it.”

  The three bird experts exchanged glances. The sheriff cocked his head. “My men are just about finished, Rachel. I suggest you try and get some sleep tonight. I’ll post a man outside.”

  “Wait a minute. Aren’t any of you interested?”

  Garcia laid a hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re worried about your aunt, but there’s no possible way for me to investigate all the crows—”

  “Ravens.”

  “—that we have around here. If that bird carried something off, it’s gone.”

  Rachel cinched the belt of her robe more tightly around her waist. “I remember seeing a flash of light. I can almost picture it in my mind. There must be some way of tracking that bird.”

  Garcia spread his arms wide. “How’ bout it? Any of you have any ideas?”

  “It would be impossible,” agreed Charles. Forest concurred.

  “Sorry, Rachel.” Garcia paused halfway through the doorway to Miriam’s study. “Let me know if you figure out a way. You never know. I’ve caught a few jailbirds in my day that I thought would get away.”

  Heat edged its way up Rachel’s neck. Granted, it was a slim lead. But she intended to follow it up. “In that case, Sheriff, you might want to talk to Perky. He saw the intruder, too.”

  The others left right after the sheriff. Rachel waited until the early rays of sunlight tipped the mountain peaks golden, then called Harry. If anyone knew something about ravens, she reasoned, Harry would. He had agreed to stop by.

  Now, seated at the breakfast table, he worried his fingers along the handle of his stoneware coffee mug. “You know that your idea’s a little out there.”

  “The others thought so, too. But it is possible, right?”

  “Technically, sure. Ravens are members of the corvid family. Plenty strong enough to carry off a computer disk. An adult weighs three or four pounds, and has about a four-foot wingspan.”

  “Would you define corvid in layman’s terms for me?”

  “It’s a family name, a family being comprised of a number of similar species. The corvid family includes magpies, jays, rooks, and crows.”

  “All the camp robbers.”

  “Right. They’re the Navajo of the bird world. Adaptable, smart, quick to learn, and great scavengers.”

  “Tell me about the raven.”

  “They’re the largest species of corvid, and they’ve been known to pick up odd things.”

  “What kinds of things?” Rachel hoped computer disks were on the list.

  “Candy bars, car keys, shiny objects.” Harry leaned back in the chair. “National Geographic did an article on ravens in one of their January issues. Very interesting. The author claimed a raven had unzipped his backpack and stolen his cheese.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Then he questioned a biologist in Yellowstone. According to the expert, ravens have been caught opening Velcro fasteners on the snowmobile storage compartments, and even untied knots to snitch food. The article showed a picture of one holding a map.”

  “So it is possible!” Rachel sloshed her coffee in her excitement, and grabbed for the paper towels. “Assuming the raven did pick up a disk, where would he have carried it?”

  Harry helped her blot up the spill. “Most likely he dropped it when he found it wasn’
t edible.”

  That left a lot of territory to search between The Thicket and Lumpy Ridge. “Assuming he didn’t drop it, where would he have taken it?”

  Harry rested his elbows on the table, set his chin in the vee of his hands, and patted his cheeks in thought. “I can think of only two possibilities. Ravens are like golden eagles in that they cache food.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They bury it, like a dog. They dig a hole in the dirt, drop in a morsel, then cover the spot to hide it. It’s rare to locate a cache. The other possibility is finding its nest. It’s late in the season, so most of the raven young have hatched by now. Most have fledged. Still, I think it’s your best bet.” He frowned. “You know, finding one bird in a rant of ravens will be like finding the longest branch on a tree.”

  A rant of ravens. What had Aunt Miriam called them the day Rachel had misidentified a group as crows? An unkindness of ravens. Maybe this one was kinder than it realized.

  “Was there anything unusual about the bird?” Harry asked.

  Rachel shut her eyes and tried hard to remember. She tried viewing the memory the way she’d study a photograph. The bird flew. The last rays of sunlight bounced off whatever was in his beak, and on his leg. Her eyes flashed open. “Could he have been banded?”

  “We’ve banded a few.” Harry thought a moment. “You said the bird flew to Lumpy Ridge?”

  “In that general direction. Toward the camel’s back formation.”

  “Twin Owls formation,” he corrected, sitting up. “The park conducts a annual raptor observation program to document the nesting sites up there. Last year some volunteers were asked to record any bird activity, and a lot of the records included other sightings. We could check this year’s accountings for a nesting raven.”

  Rachel felt a resurgence of excitement. Maybe there was still some hope of finding the disk. “Where are the records kept?”

  “In the Raptor House.”

  After a short walk, they were rooting around in Eric’s office. Harry came up with the set of binders containing the documentation on nests in the Lumpy Ridge area.

  Rachel groaned. “There must be thirty notebooks here.”

  “Grab a stack.”

  She followed his lead, skimming the daily reports for any notations of raven sightings. She found several, but none that offered any details. After half an hour, Harry jabbed at a page in his notebook. “Eric located a raven’s nest on Twin Owls this year, and he marked the bird as banded.”

  “Let me see.”

  Eric had drawn a diagram of the nest location beside his notes. The penciled sketch showed the nest perched on an overhanging ledge near the top of the Lower Owl formation on Twin Owls.

  “I think this is your best chance. You can see the Lower Owl from almost anywhere on the property. Set up a scope, keep your eyes open. With luck, maybe you’ll spot your bird.”

  Rachel impulsively hugged him. Harry blushed, and extricated himself. “Don’t go overboard. More than likely you won’t get what you’re after.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Even if you’re lucky and you spot the bird and find its nest, you can’t climb up there.”

  “Why not?”

  “The Owls are off-limits because of the peregrines nesting. Climbers scare the birds. Lumpy Ridge is shut down from now until the end of June, maybe early July.”

  “I’ll bet that makes the climbers happy.”

  “Most are okay with it. We’ve had a few threaten to shoot the raptors. More than likely, that’s what happened to the eyasses’ mother.”

  The mention of the stolen chicks reminded Rachel of Aunt Miriam’s disappearance, and she removed the page with the diagram from the notebook. “The sheriff can climb up there.”

  “But he won’t.” Harry raked his hair back. “Trust me. It would be political suicide for him. The sheriff is an elected official, and we’re coming up on an election year. Around here the green vote’s crucial. Besides, he needs the support of the townspeople for his juvenile delinquent camp. He isn’t going to do anything to mess that up.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Harry, but Aunt Miriam’s been missing almost two days. What if she’s hurt or needs our help? I can’t just sit here and do nothing. If anything happened to her, I’d never forgive myself.” Rachel folded the paper and stuck it in her back pocket. “If I spot the bird, the sheriff will have to listen.”

  “Maybe.” Harry stood up, then started for the door. “Let me know how it goes.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Harry had left, and Eric never showed up for work. Rachel decided to put her own work on hold, borrowed a pair of binoculars from the office, and dragged a lawn chair around the side of the house. There was a good view of Lower Owl from there. Maybe she’d spot the raven.

  She settled down in the chair and tried adjusting the binoculars. First, she maneuvered the spacing between the two barrels, then, once she had gauged the distance correctly, focused the image, using the wheel on top of the glasses. The image blurred. She lowered the binoculars, feeling dizzy and sick to her stomach.

  Lark pulled into the driveway, and Rachel tried training the binoculars on her.

  “Having trouble?” called Lark, climbing out of her car and slamming the door. She walked toward Rachel, a blurry blob of blue, red, and yellow.

  Rachel lowered the glasses again. The sun radiated from Lark’s blond hair. She wore blue jeans and a red T-shirt. Well, at least the color was good. “I must be binocular-challenged.”

  “Want some help?”

  Rachel handed her the glasses.

  “This is the main focus.” Lark pointed to the knob on the top of the binoculars, then she gestured to a small knob on the right eyepiece. “This is the diopter knob. It’s the fine-tuner, and the last person using these things must have been blind.” She twisted the knob counterclockwise. “Okay, now hold the binoculars up to your face and adjust the width of the barrels to fit your eyes. You want to see everything through one big circle, not two.”

  Rachel took the binoculars and followed Lark’s instructions. “Done.”

  “Now use the focus on top to focus in on something.”

  “That’s better.”

  “Wait. Now close your left eye and turn the diopter until the image you see through your right eye is clear.”

  Rachel twisted the eyepiece knob and the Twin Owls buttresses came more sharply into view.

  “Clear?” Lark asked.

  “Crystal.”

  “Good.” Lark fidgeted, then pointed at the binoculars. “By the way, there’s a gauge on the diopter. Make a note of the setting. That way, if someone else uses your binos, you can reset them easy.”

  Rachel checked. The gauge was numbered clockwise, and the mark fell between the 0 and the 1. “Duly noted. Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  The silence stretched between them until finally Rachel lowered the binoculars. She might as well be the one to broach the subject. “Why didn’t you tell me Bursau was staying at The Drummond?”

  Lark’s chin jutted into the air. “I don’t see how it makes any difference.”

  “It probably doesn’t.” Rachel turned away and lifted the binoculars back to her eyes. “It’s more a matter of trust.” Miriam was missing, and Lark had withheld information. Any tidbit, any clue, seemed important, as attested to by the present lawn chair observation.

  “I guess I should have coughed it up.” Lark crossed her legs and sat down Indian-style on the ground beside the chair. “By the time it seemed relevant, there wasn’t much point in bringing it up. The Sheriff’s Department had searched the hotel room while you were with Harry in Garcia’s car. Anyway, the maid had already cleaned the room, and Garcia’s guys found squat.”

  “How about the maid? Did she tell you she found anything?” Rachel already knew from the interview that she’d told the Gazette reporter the room was empty.

  “She claims it was clean.”

&nb
sp; Rachel refocused the binoculars on the Lower Owl, a small, broken outcrop sitting directly in front of the Twin Owls. Less imposing, the Lower Owl was about half the size of the twin buttresses, a giant mass of gray, craggy rock rising over a hundred feet in the air.

  “What are you doing, anyway?” Lark asked, twisting her braid.

  Rachel first filled her in on the break-in. “But then I remembered having seen two birds the night we found Bursau’s body—the LeConte’s sparrow and a raven. Of course, everyone thinks I’ve lost my mind.” She continued to scan the skies. “But Harry helped me find the records on the raven, and I’m trying to find its nest.”

  “Where is it supposed to be?”

  “Do you see that overhang on the southeast side, about three-quarters of the way up?” Rachel pointed. “That’s where Eric has the nest marked in his notes.” She handed the paper to Lark. “But I can’t see it.”

  “You need to be closer.” Lark waggled the paper in front of Rachel’s face. “Regardless, you’re nuts.”

  “Ah, you’re in the majority.”

  Lark picked up a pine needle and threw it like a spear at a sprig of red Indian paintbrush. “What are you planning to do if you do spot the bird?”

  “Check the nest for something it might have carried off.”

  “Like a computer disk?”

  “I always said you were smart.”

  “But you can’t. Lumpy Ridge is off-limits to climbers, and that includes the Lower Owl. They’ll put you in jail if they catch you up there.”

  “Yeah, if I go to Garcia and he refuses to check out the nest, then I can’t climb because he’ll know what I’m planning to do. But this way, we’ll have the element of surprise on our side, and maybe we won’t get caught.”

  “We?”

  Rachel refused to be deterred. “You do know how to climb, don’t you?”

  Lark hooted. “You’re not just crazy, you’re certifiable. I’m not going anywhere near that rock.”

  Rachel’s fingers squeezed the binoculars. Roger had taken her climbing once or twice, even if it was under duress. She knew how to look for hand- and footholds, and how to belay. “Well, I am.”