Sacrifice of Buntings

by Goff, Christine

  She heard him climb out of the shower. Lifting the small tin from his pocket, she bolted for the door. Sliding the chain out of its track, she swung open the door, bolted out into the hall, and slammed the door shut behind her.

  Talk about not choosing your moment!

  Fortunately the hallway was empty. Racing down the stairs, she skidded around corners and didn’t stop until she was in front of her own room. Banging noisily, she ran through a quick scenario of how she would be caught. Saxby would catch up to her, the maid who had let her in upstairs would choose just this moment to come down the hall, and security would storm the stairways. And then Lark yanked open the door.

  Behind her, Cecilia and Dorothy sat, open-mouthed, on the beds. “Oh my,”

  Rachel burst inside and slammed the door behind her. “Bad news,” she gasped. “Guy Saxby’s a thief!”

  It took her a few moments to catch her breath, and to listen to Lark’s apology.

  Dorothy and Cecilia had appeared at the door with Saxby shortly after Rachel had gone upstairs. Lark had done her best to keep him occupied and had called as soon as he left. Unfortunately, Dorothy had wanted to know who she was calling, and Lark had let the phone ring too long.

  Up until then, Dorothy had sat stoically at the end of Rachel’s bed. Now she wanted answers. “What were you thinking, going up to Guy’s room?”

  “I was thinking Knapp might have been right with his accusations.” Rachel pulled the small tin from her pocket.

  The others gasped. Dorothy’s eyes looked shiny and wet.

  “Oh my,” Cecilia whispered.

  Dorothy’s expression hardened. “We don’t know what’s in there.”

  “We can guess,” Lark said. “Open it.”

  Inside was a small reel with inch-wide film.

  CHAPTER 15

  Rachel pulled the reel out of its tin holder and grasped the film by its edges. She held it up to the light and studied the positive image frame by frame.

  There was no doubt that the film was shot in a swamp. The sun shone brightly through tall Cypress and tupelo trees draped in Spanish moss. An old-growth forest covered the highlands; peat blanketed the ground. She could tell by the angle that Knapp and Becker were standing on low ground when the film was taken. A deer path meandered through the forest, the understory thick with a tangle of dead trees and limbs. A small rise caused the path to bend in the distance. Above the curve was a spot of red.

  The next nine or ten frames told the story. A large black-and-white bird with a red crest and a white bill flew by, landing on a nearby tree. Its flight was straight, the bird looked huge, and its trailing wing feathers formed a white saddle on its back.

  “The ivory-billed woodpecker,” Lark said. Awe softened her voice. “You were right all along, Rae.”

  Dorothy looked crestfallen. “He lied.”

  If Dorothy’s disappointment in Saxby overshadowed her enthusiasm about the bird, she had to be heartbroken. Rachel reached out and patted her arm.

  “What else has he lied about?”

  Cecilia moved to comfort her sister, but Dorothy pushed her away. “I’m going to bed.”

  Rachel wound the film back onto the reel and placed it back in the can. She jerked her head in the direction of Dorothy and Cecilia’s room. “What do we do?”

  “We turn the old goat in,” Cecilia said. She seemed only too happy to hang Saxby out in the wind.

  “How?” Rachel said. “Saxby stole the film from Knapp, but I took it from Saxby. It’s his word against ours about who took it in the first place. Not only that, I broke into his room and there are witnesses.” She told them about Furtive Man and the maid.

  “So I guess that means we can’t contact Detective Stone?” Lark said.

  Rachel nodded.

  The three of them sat in silence, then Rachel had an idea. “I know. Tomorrow morning we can give the film back to Chuck Knapp.”

  The first test came at breakfast. Guy Saxby had followed them into the dining room, and Rachel struggled to keep a straight face when he sat down next to Dorothy and she elbowed him in the ribs.

  “What a night I had,” he said, rubbing his side. “Someone broke into my room. I was in the shower, so I grabbed a towel and took up the chase. It’s not the first time my room has been violated.”

  Cecilia picked that moment to choke on her sticky bun.

  “Was anything missing?” Rachel asked, curious about his response.

  His jaw tightened, but he shook his head. “Not that I could tell. And I didn’t catch the bastard. I ended up locking myself out of my room, in the hallway, dripping wet, wearing only a towel.” He seemed perplexed when Dorothy didn’t react.

  “What did you do?” Lark asked.

  “I called security from the phone on the hall table, and then one of the housekeeping staff came along. She took pity on me and said my wife and I should be more careful. I have no idea what she was talking about.”

  This time it was Rachel’s turn to choke.

  Right then Evan Kearns appeared in the restaurant. “There you are. Guy, I need to speak with you.”

  Saxby wiped his mouth. “Sure, Evan. Is something wrong?”

  “Outside.”

  Rachel and Lark exchanged glances.

  Saxby set down his napkin and stood. “I’ll be right back, ladies.”

  “Maybe not,” Kearns said, steering him away.

  Rachel watched the two of them talk in the foyer. By the gestures, it appeared something serious had happened.

  Saxby returned to the table, but his demeanor had changed. He sat down, stared at the remains of his breakfast, and shook his head as if to clear it.

  “What’s happened?” Rachel asked, sensing he needed some prompting.

  “Chuck Knapp is dead.”

  Her skin tingled. The rest of the women looked like they’d gone into shock.

  “What do you mean, dead?” Rachel asked.

  “Dead, as in murdered,” Saxby said. “Shot. Sometime last night. Kearns is shutting down the convention.”

  “Oh my,” Cecilia said.

  Dorothy’s skin turned ashen, and Lark’s mouth dropped open. Rachel fingered the film can in her pocket.

  “That’s terrible,” Lark said.

  “What time was he killed?” Rachel asked. Her mind was doing the math.

  “What kind of question is that?” Saxby asked. “How should I know?”

  “Kearns didn’t say?” If it happened early enough, Saxby was in the clear. He might be a thief, but he wasn’t a murderer.

  Dorothy seemed to follow her train of thought. “It’s important you try and remember, Guy.”

  Saxby rubbed his forehead. “He said the police knocked on his door around ten. We were still having fun in the bar about then.”

  Who else had been in the bar? Rachel wracked her brain trying to remember. Patricia Anderson had been helping the waitress, who had been caught unprepared by the number of birders descending upon the bar that late.

  Their suspect list was dwindling. With Knapp and Becker both dead, it was safe to assume the murders were connected, which cleared Sonja. What possible reason would she have to kill Knapp? If Saxby was right about the time of Knapp’s death, he was off the hook too. He was in the bar and then in his room at the time Knapp was killed. Rachel could attest to that. Patricia Anderson was waiting tables and doing dishes. Liam Kelly had an alibi for Becker’s murder, which left Wolcott, Nevin Anderson, and the Carters on the list.

  “What happens now?” Cecilia asked.

  “I need to make arrangements to get onto Swamper’s Island,” Saxby said, pushing back his chair. “I’ll call you later, Dorothy.”

  Dorothy glanced up, her face impassive. “I don’t think we have much to talk about, Guy.”

  He looked startled. “Did I… is there something wrong?”

  “You might say I’ve had a change of heart.”

  Rachel, Lark, and Cecilia spent the rest of the morning trying to console Dor
othy. It was tough learning someone you cared for had betrayed you. Rachel’s thoughts moved to Roger. She understood firsthand how that felt.

  “He’s not worth it, Dot,” Cecilia said.

  “How could I have been so stupid?” Dorothy seemed angrier with herself than with Guy.

  “You were duped,” Cecilia said. “It happens.”

  Dorothy looked like Cecilia had slapped her. “It never happens to me.”

  By afternoon she had stopped feeling sorry for herself, and self-pity had turned to anger.

  “How do we know that Knapp was killed when Guy said he was?” she demanded. “He probably lied about that too.”

  A valid point, Rachel thought. It was time to see Detective Stone and hand over the film.

  The Brunswick Police Department was located on Mansfield Street in a two-story brick building with white trim. Large mullioned windows faced the street, and a black awning shaded the front steps. Rachel parked the rental car in a one-hour spot, and she and Lark jaywalked to the entrance. Dorothy was gunning for Saxby, so she and Cecilia had stayed behind.

  Inside the building, marble-tiled floors shone with fresh polish. Institutional-green paint covered the walls. Large framed photographs of the Brunswick Police Department chiefs from 1927 onward hung on the walls.

  A doorway on the left stood open, and a young officer in blue looked up as Rachel and Lark entered.

  “May I help you?”

  “We’re looking for Detective Stone,” Rachel said.

  “May I tell him who’s calling?”

  “Rachel Wilder and Lark Drummond.”

  The officer in blue picked up the phone receiver and dialed a number.

  Detective Stone didn’t keep them waiting. He came in through the open door and ushered them across the hall into his office. Pointing to two wooden chairs with green leather seat cushions, he moved behind a large wooden desk and clasped his hands on its polished surface. “What can I do for you?”

  “We found this.” Rachel pushed the four-inch flat film canister across the desktop towards him. “It’s Knapp’s movie.”

  He looked confused. “That’s the one he claimed was missing last night?”

  Was it just last night? Rachel nodded

  “And you found it?” He seemed skeptical.

  “Yes.” Rachel lifted her chin. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She had discovered it when she wasn’t searching. Still, she couldn’t meet his gaze.

  “Care to tell me where?”

  Now came the tricky part. “It was in Guy Saxby’s possession.”

  “Does he know you have it?”

  “We hope not,” Lark said.

  Rachel started to explain, but Detective Stone waved his hand in the air. “I don’t want to know. Anything you say may incriminate you, and it doesn’t matter anyway, since I can’t prove it was ever in his possession.” He glared at them through small dark eyes. “Did it ever occur to you, when you were stealing this treasure,” he held up the tape, “that you were interfering in a police investigation?”

  “Yes,” Rachel and Lark admitted in unison.

  Detective Stone sighed. “But that didn’t matter.”

  It was more of a statement than a question, but they both replied. “No.”

  Rachel shrugged. “You couldn’t look for it. We could. Now that we know he stole the film, the question we all want answered is, did Saxby kill Becker and Knapp?”

  “Why kill Knapp if he already had the film?” Stone asked.

  “Maybe to shut Knapp up about who he thought had stolen it,” Lark said.

  Detective Stone shook his head. “You women are a piece of work.” He rubbed his short, curly hair and flashed them a bright smile.

  Rachel leaned forward. “Can you tell us what time Knapp was murdered?” It was a reasonable question, and he had no reason to hide the answer.

  “The coroner estimates between nine thirty and eleven.”

  “Then he’s in the clear,” Lark said. “Are you satisfied now, Rae?”

  “How do you now Saxby’s in the clear?” Detective Stone asked.

  At that point, Rachel confessed. She told him everything about her adventure the night before. Detective Stone didn’t even try not to laugh.

  Once he’d gotten control of himself, he said, “I’m ready to hear your theories now. Who remains on your suspect list?”

  Rachel held up a finger. “Victor Wolcott.”

  “The head of the Hyde Island Authority?” Detective Stone jotted his name on a pad of paper. “What makes you suspect him?”

  Lark filled him in on Wolcott’s development plans.

  “He and Nevin Anderson might even be working together,” Rachel added. She explained how the discovery of a rare species on the swampland might have derailed the sale.

  “But it helps with the trade,” Detective Stone pointed out.

  “Maybe not,” Rachel said. “If the state doesn’t have to sacrifice the eighty acres because the swampland is protected under federal law, the state comes out ahead. They keep their land and their money, and the swampland remains undeveloped.”

  He scratched his head again. “Anderson and Wolcott are hunting buddies. Both of them know their way around a weapon, and either one of them could have taken potshots at you from the golf course.”

  “Then there’s the Carter brothers and Fancy.” Rachel told him about seeing Dwight with a rifle the day of the Swamper’s Island fiasco.

  “Why would he care what happens?”

  “Fancy stands to make a lot of money if the land trade or a development happens. She makes nothing if both deals fall through. Her sons might be protecting their interest.”

  “I’ve talked to those boys,” Detective Stone said. “And their mother. She wants to sell the land. Those boys would be happier with the status quo.”

  Well, that ruled out the Carter boys as suspects. As for Fancy, Rachel couldn’t imagine her using more than her wiles to try and finagle a deal. That left Anderson and Wolcott. Were they in this together, or was each man out for himself?

  “You’re going to stay out of this,” Detective Stone said as if reading her mind. “Thanks for bringing this in.” He picked up the film can, and then shook it. Popping it open, he showed them it was empty.

  Rachel’s stomach tightened, and her skin tingled. “It was there last night. I put it in the nightstand.” She looked at Lark.

  “I didn’t take it.”

  “How about your friends?” Detective Stone asked.

  “No,” Rachel said. “They’d have no reason to take it.” Then a sickening thought crept into her mind. “When we came back up from breakfast, our room was made up.”

  “Why would the maid steal the film?” Detective Stone asked.

  “She wouldn’t,” Rachel said. “But Nevin Anderson would. Maybe one of the Andersons took it and made up the room to make us think the maid had been there. We were in the restaurant for at least an hour.”

  “Okay,” he said, closing the canister and setting it aside on his desk. “I’ll check into it. Now, you two, go back to the hotel, pack your bags, and go home. No more digging around. No more hiding under beds. You leave tomorrow, right?”

  “Monday,” Lark said.

  “Then go bird-watching. That’s what you came for.”

  They followed his advice. Back at the hotel Dorothy was still in a funk, so Rachel took matters into her own hands. They all wanted a chance to see the bird of a lifetime, and, even if the festival was canceled, the Carters were offering the Okefenokee Swamp Tour. Rachel secured the last four spots on the bus. The next morning, she climbed out of bed before the alarm went off.

  “Rise and shine,” Rachel said. “It’s six a.m.”

  Lark rolled over and stretched. “Oh boy, another bus ride.”

  “Yes, but this time we’ll actually get to see something,” Rachel said. She knocked on the door connecting their suite to Dorothy and Cecilia’s. “Rise and shine.”

  “Watch out,” Lark y
elled, “it’s Tour Guide Barbie. I think the Lucy Bell gals have gotten Rachel in their clutches.”

  “Oh my,” Cecilia said. “Are we having fun yet?”

  “We’d better be,” Rachel said. “It’s our last day.”

  By six thirty, Dorothy was the one all put together. After adding finishing touches to her hair, she started packing her backpack. “Okay ladies, we need sunscreen, water, field books, cameras, sunglasses, binoculars…”

  “Don’t forget bug spray,” Cecilia said.

  “Can you believe it? We’re going out to see a bird thought to be extinct,” Dorothy said. “I may not be having a ’Big Year,’ but if we spot the ivory-billed, it will be one of the best.”

  “There are no guarantees, Dot.”

  “No, but I have a feeling.”

  Rachel was pleased to see Dorothy in such a good mood, and her enthusiasm was contagious. Everyone on the bus seemed to catch her spirit. Everyone’s hopes for seeing some unusual species were high.

  The bus ride was uneventful. Lark dozed. Cecilia and Dorothy compared field notes from the week. Rachel enjoyed the view from the windows. The marshes dissipated, and tall pine forests lined the roads.

  She sat up straighter when they passed the turnoff where they had idled on Friday. The spear of land called Swamper’s Island tapered off to the west, cut off from the mainland by a large swath of brackish water. A small wooden bridge behind a wire fence bridged the gap—one side supported by Swamper’s Island, the other supported by Carter land.

  The turn-in for the Okefenokee Swamp Tours camp was a half mile farther down the road. A small trailer sported a large sign declaring it the Okefenokee Swamp Tours Convenience Store. The cutout of a large alligator waving a safari hat stood on its hind legs supporting the sign. Several outbuildings were scattered about, and several motorboats were tied up to the docks. In the distance, she could see the National Wildlife Refuge building.

  “Look who drove themselves rather than travel with the hoi polloi,” Cecilia said as the bus jolted to a stop.

  Rachel glanced out the window. Nevin Anderson and Victor Wolcott were unloading gear from the back of a beige sedan.

  As their group moved en masse toward the small convenience store, Wolcott and Anderson headed for the canoes. Rachel watched them negotiate with Fancy before loading their gear into a dark green canoe.