Death of a Songbird (20 page)

Duty
. The word struck a chord, but the note rang flat somehow. She couldn’t hear it clearly or discern what it meant. “You must have been surprised to see Jesus show up in Norberto’s place.”

“You bet your patootie, darlin’.”

She remembered Buzz dropping his glass on the patio. Jesus’s reaction, stepping back in the shadows and out of the limelight, made sense now.

“How
did
you end up coming in Rincon’s place?” she asked him.

“Norberto and I come from the same township. I learned he’d been invited to come to Colorado as Jan Halloway’s guest, but that he had never actually met her before. We—me and some of my friends—arranged an accident. He is recovering from a broken jaw and a few broken bones right now.” His hand caressed Teresa’s hair. “I knew my wife was here.”

Lark swallowed, touched by his show of affection but afraid of what her next question might bring. She knew she had to ask it anyway. “I found the ledger and a black Zapatista ski mask in your room.”

His eyes narrowed. “You were in my room.”

She shrugged and made a motion like
tap, tap, tap
in the air.

“Ahhh, the door. Jan was sooo upset. She tried to fire the maid.”

“I know. It didn’t work.” Lark watched Teresa mold herself against her husband, claiming her rightful position beneath his arm. “You didn’t answer my question, Jesus.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His gaze was clear and never wavered. “The mask, I always carry. The ledger, I know nothing about”

Lark believed him. “So who could have planted it there?”

Jan? Propped open, the adjoining room to Jesus’ room provided all the access she needed. She could have opened the connecting door at will and slipped the ledger into his room.

Katherine? Velof, in more and more standard practice, had given the coordinators keys to the VIP guest rooms to get them checked-in quickly. The question was, had he given them one per guest or several per room?

Or there was still Buzz to consider. She glanced at the Air Force officer.

“Hey, don’t look at me. My job is to—”

“—gather intel,” she and Buzz said in unison. “I heard.” It took her a minute to realize that her fear had vanished. “Well, now that you’re here, you can help us gather some more evidence and haul it out to the truck. Before he died, Paul told me that Esther had proof of Norberto’s dealings with Jitters. The inference seemed to be that Jan knew about the coffee.”

“Then she might have killed Esther to keep her from spilling the beans,” Buzz said. “No pun intended.”

Spoken out loud, the thought grew in proportion. “Then,” continued Lark, “if she discovered Paul knew there was proof, she would have been forced to kill him, too.”

Buzz nodded. “Sort of a Coffeegate.”

Lark turned to Teresa. “Teresa, help me check these tags. We’re looking for one that’s different.”

They found it at the bottom of the pile. A tag marked “Jitters Coffee Company.” On the back, Esther had written in chicken scrawl: “Hold for pickup.”

“By who?” Teresa asked.

“By whom.” The woman’s voice startled them all.

The light shattered, plunging the room into darkness.

Lark leaped to her feet as the door came down with a clang and the deadbolt slid into place.

“Jan?” Buzz asked. Was he asking because they were just speaking of her or because he thought he’d recognized her voice?

“No,” Lark said, matter-of-factly, everything suddenly falling into place. “It’s Katherine.”

“How did you guess?” With more than two words spoken, the birdlike voice was hard to mistake. Or did she mean how did Lark guess it was
she
who killed Esther and Paul.

“Your voice gave you away, but the pieces all fit. Paul told me how tirelessly you’d worked to increase the wealth of the Migration Alliance.” Rachel’s comments about the state of William Tanager’s estate came flooding back. Like Katherine’s father, he was a renowned ornithologist, and his family was broke. “That’s because the family money was running out, wasn’t it?”

“Let’s face it, even a famous ornithologist is little more than a glorified professor. My father had lived on my grandfather’s money, as did his brothers and sister. Suffice it to say, the family resources were stretched thin.”

“So you saw an opportunity to make a lot of money and partnered up with Norberto. A little hypocritical, don’t you think?”

“The coffee was being sun-grown anyway. Actually, I thought it deliciously ironic that proceeds from its sale were being used to help stamp out its production.” She laughed. “Of course, you can imagine my surprise when it wasn’t Norberto who showed up for the conference. Luckily, no one was the wiser.”

Lark heard the sound of the padlock clicking shut. Fear at being locked inside washed over her. With the windows blackened, no light from outside penetrated the small room, and Lark groped her way closer to the door, the only source of fresh air.

“But why kill Esther Mills?” Buzz asked.

“She had no choice,” answered Lark. “Esther had discovered that the Jitters coffee was mixed half and half. Half shade-grown, half sun-grown. And that Norberto was shipping the tainted coffee to the States. Jan Halloway knew nothing about it.”

“When Esther told Paul she planned to blow the lid off the Jitters operation, I knew the trail would eventually lead back to me.” Katherine didn’t move outside the door. “I wore the mask in case someone saw me and surprised her in back of the store. We were about the same size, but I was in much better shape.”

Lark’s hands touched the metal, found the handle, and yanked up. The door didn’t budge.

Katherine laughed softly. “You can’t get out. I’ve locked the door.”

Panic gripped her; then Lark remembered that Crandall knew where they were. Eventually, he’d come and let them out. She pressed her back to the door frame.

“Killing Paul was more difficult, for a number of reasons,” Katherine said. “All of your digging had made him curious. I think he’d begun to realize that I was the one who’d killed Esther. Paul and I had been partners for years. I loved him like a brother. But he carried a torch for Esther, and she was dangerous. She focused too much on the little picture. I’d put a stop to their relationship once, but then he’d rallied to your cause to find her murderer.”

Katherine’s voice grew faint, then louder again. Lark heard a clanking near the base of the warehouse door.

“I saw him take the walkie-talkie and head into the woods, and I followed him. After he felt he was far enough away from the shelter, he hunkered down near the tree and tried raising someone on the radio. I crept up behind him and hit him with a rock.”

“Then slit his throat with my knife.”

“Yes.” She sounded sad, then perked up. “Though, actually, I thought using your knife was a nice touch.”

“Don’t you think you’ve antagonized her enough?” whispered Buzz, grabbing Lark’s knee. She jumped, banging her elbow on the metal framing.

“Get up off your knees, Buzz. There’s glass from the light all over the place.”

“I know. I found some.”

A warm, sticky hand grasped her wrist, as he used her for leverage to climb to his feet. She wondered how bad the cut was.

Katherine giggled through the door. “I’m so sorry about this, Buzz.”

“I don’t know what you’re planning to do, Katherine, but why don’t you let us out of here, so we can talk about it?” he said. “There’s got to be a better solution, and I’m feeling a little woozy from lack of blood.”

Lark could hear Teresa whimpering in the background and Jesus whispering sweet endearments to calm her down.

“I can’t let you out, Buzz. You forget; I’ve murdered two people. I imagine they’d put me in jail for life.”

Lark nervously worried the end of her braid. “It’s only a matter of time before someone comes and lets us out of here, Katherine. There’s a coffee delivery scheduled for first thing in the morning, and I left a message with Bernie Crandall’s desk sergeant telling him where I was going.”

“Then I guess I’d better hurry.
Adios, amigos.”

Lark felt Buzz tremble beside her, then slump to the ground. Through the door and walls came the sound of a car starting and the smell of exhaust.

Oh my God
, thought Lark.
Oh my God
. Katherine Saunders planned to asphyxiate them.

For a woman of
background and breeding, Katherine Saunders lacked class. Engine exhaust poured in under the door through a large crack on the right side. Lark instantly felt woozy and sick.

“We have to stuff something into the crack and slow down the accumulation of the carbon monoxide.” Lark tried to think of what they could use. “Let’s empty some of the coffee bags and use the sacks.”

“Help me Teresa,” said Jesus. “Do what Lark said.”

“We need to stay calm,” Buzz said, ramming his shoulder against the metal door. “Let’s yell for help. If we just sit tight, someone will come.”

“Not before we’re dead.” Lark knew these small towns. On a weekend they rolled the sidewalks up at nine o’clock, on weeknights by eight. Added to it, forested land backed the Commercial Storage lot on one side, while a maze of warehouse buildings buffered the other side from the street. Unless Crandall showed up, no one would find them until morning. And the way things stood, they had about fifteen minutes to live.

“Buzz, you have to get away from the door.” Exhaust pooled on the floor at their feet, then rose toward the ceiling on the heat of the fumes. Lark dragged Buzz up from the floor, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and guiding him toward the back of the small building. Jesus collided with them.

“Sit with Teresa,” he commanded, taking over with Buzz and shoving empty coffee sacks into Lark’s arms. “What do we do now?”

Lark realized he was looking to her for direction. “You’re the guerrilla fighter, Jesus. You tell me.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been in a situation like this one.”

Lark heard Teresa praying and scrunched her eyes together. They burned from the fumes, and her head was starting to ache. “Okay, first we need to seal the cracks around the door as best we can.”

Together, they shoved the rough burlap into the seam, sealing the crack below the door the best they could and slowing the flow of exhaust into the building.

“I remember seeing two windows, up high, painted black,” she said. “If we can break one, maybe one of us can squeeze through. It will at least let some of the exhaust out and some fresh air in.”

She could see pinpricks of light penetrating the paint. Jesus leaped into action. Exhaust billowed around them. Lark fought the desire to throw up. “Stay low,” she yelled to the others. “It’s cold enough, the heated fumes should rise. The air near the floor will stay fresh the longest” She didn’t really believe what she’d told them. The exhaust mixed with the air, swirling around them. It was only a matter of time before they succumbed.

Lark patted along the walls, fingers stretched toward the ceiling, searching for the window. The metal framing felt cold to the touch, the boards warm. She tried kicking the wall, to no avail. The structure seemed impenetrable.
Just what you want in a security warehouse
. If she got out of here, maybe they’d let her do their next commercial.

“I found it,” yelled Jesus. His voice sounded hoarse and wheezy. “I can’t reach high enough.”

“Boost me up.” She groped for his hands. “Make a saddle of your hands. Right, like that” She placed her foot in the makeshift stirrup and stood. Her ankle screamed with pain at the exertion. Tears dripped from the corners of her eyes. With one hand she pounded against the glass as she searched for a catch with the other.

Finding a window fitting, she turned the crank, pushing against the glass. Nothing.
Damn!
“I think the windows are painted shut. We need something to break the glass.”

“Boost me,” said Jesus, lowering her back to the floor.

Lark formed a stirrup and steadied her hands by leaning her shoulder against the wall. Her head pounded. Jesus shifted his weight, and she winced as the soles of his boots pinched her fingers. She heard his fist pound against the glass, blending with the chug of the car’s engine. Teresa began keening, the low moan creating a rhythm with the engine, making a melody of chaos.

The window shattered, and glass rained down on Lark’s head. She tucked her chin to her chest and closed her eyes, tensing against the pinpricks of the popcorn shards. Thank heavens for tempered glass.

Jesus jumped down, his breath rattling in his chest. “There’s bars on the outside of the windows.”

Breaking the window helped a little. It gave the exhaust a place to go, buying them a little more time. It also allowed in some light.

Lark sank to the floor. “Unless Crandall gets here, we’re finished.”

Teresa’s keening increased in rhythm and tempo. Jesus rushed to her side. His gentle Spanish mingled with her cries.

“Would you mind shutting up?” Buzz asked.

His voice, the words. An image of her father at the election podium flashed through her mind, his arms raised. The message: a Drummond never says die.

Maybe she
was
like her father. Lark pushed herself to her feet. There was a weak link in the building. The hole where the two-by-fours were. Hunched over like a Neanderthal, she moved quickly across the floor. Light from the next storage unit seeped through the bars of the window, helping her find what she was looking for.

“Jesus, come here.”

The young man was by her side in seconds. “Tell me what to do.”

“We need to tear these boards off. They’re covering a hole.”

Once the reality of her words sank in, he worked with a fever. Together, they strained against the boards and nails.

“We need something to pry with.”

The exhaust filled the room and oozed around them in oily clouds. Anything they did caused them to gulp more of the poisonous air, but not doing anything meant they would die.

“Kick,” she ordered. Lark raised her foot and smashed it against the two-by-fours. She found she had better strength standing on her left foot and kicking with her right. Each blow brought an agony of its own, yet a feeling of exhilaration.

On the third kick, the top board gave. She kicked again, and the board splintered beneath her feet. Jesus jerked the board free and used it as a battering ram. In minutes, they’d knocked a hole in the wall large enough for even Buzz to crawl through.

Lark tumbled outside, gulping in the fresh air. Her muscles were weak, she felt sick to her stomach, and a symphony played in her head.

Her mind cleared slightly, and she helped Jesus drag Buzz and Teresa out of the noxious fumes. Buzz babbled incoherently, either succumbing to the poisonous vapors or loss of blood. Teresa shivered and sobbed in the grass. Jesus crumpled to the ground beside her.

Lark rubbed her eyes. She could still hear the symphony.

It blared from the car radio.

“Jesus,” whispered Lark. “Katherine is still here.”

Of course she was here. She was pumping car exhaust into the warehouse, waiting for the four of them to die.

Leaving the three of them sprawled on the ground, Lark crept along the side of the building and peeked around the corner. Katherine sat in the driver’s seat, her head leaned back, her eyes closed. Her hands tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel.

In her compromised state, Lark knew she was no match for Katherine. The woman was strong and in command of her faculties. No, the best bet was to sneak back to the entrance and call Crandall from the pay phone.

Slipping along in the shadows, Lark reached the Commercial Storage office in record time. The pay phone stood in the bright light of a streetlamp, but there wasn’t a choice. Lark snatched up the receiver, dialed 911, and told dispatch the problem.

A car door slammed. She heard the scrape of metal against metal. An engine revved, and tires crunched on gravel.

“I have to hang up now.” Lark set the receiver down on the metal shelf inside the booth and slipped into the shadows. The gate stood open.
You must have to punch in the code a second time to close it
. If she didn’t do something quickly, Katherine would get away.

The code box was on the other side of the driveway. Darting into the light, Lark scampered across the road. Each footfall caused her head to throb. She punched in the numbers: 12345. Nothing! Damn. She knew she had the numbers right. Maybe it was the order: 13245.

Nothing
.

The sound of the car approaching spurred her to try again: 12354.

The gate arm swung as Katherine turned the corner. She gunned the engine, shooting forward, trying to make the opening. The metal gate clipped the side of her car, pushing her into the gate post, effectively pinning the car in place.

Sirens blared in the distance.

With the news of Katherine’s arrest, the Migration Alliance convention ended abruptly. Thursday-morning sessions were canceled, as was Lark’s speech scheduled for that afternoon. Attendees milled around like zombies at a zombie festival. Velof stoically endured, helping guests who needed to change their reservations, arranging transportation to the airport, correcting and updating room charges.

Lark watched it all from the confines of the carriage house.

The phone rang, and she answered it.

“Hey, I thought you’d like to know, Buzz and Teresa are both okay,” Crandall said.

The night before, they’d all been taken by ambulance to the Boulder Community Hospital. She and Jesus had been treated and released. Buzz and Teresa received a helicopter ride to the nearest hyperbaric chamber. “That’s good news.”

“How’s your head, Drummond?”

“It still hurts.”

“And your leg?”

“How do you think? It’s back in a cast.”

By Monday, badly in need of an outing, Lark hitched a ride with Dorothy and Cecilia to the afternoon EPOCH meeting at Bird Haven.

As Dorothy wheeled the car out of the Drummond parking lot, Cecilia waved to Teresa and Jesus on the porch swing.

“What’s going to happen to them?” she asked.

The couple was staying with Lark pending the outcome of an immigration hearing. “Arquette says they have a chance. Jesus applied for political asylum, and Arquette thinks the judge will grant a hearing.”

“I’m glad. They’re such sweet young people.”

Eric helped Lark up the steps at Bird Haven, settling her into a lawn chair on the patio. He’d stopped by to check on her at least once every day since her trip to the hospital, bringing Chinese food and pizza, and now he situated himself on a bench beside her. Maybe one of these days he’d ask her out on a date.

“Are you okay?” Eric asked. Blue eyes, the color of the sky, searched her face.

Lark nodded, filled with a sudden warmth that made her feel more alive than she had in days. Cecilia, sitting on the other side of her, elbowed Lark in the ribs and winked.

Rachel shoved a glass of iced tea in her hand. “Here you go.”

“You’ve been through quite an ordeal,” Andrew said, sitting down opposite and popping a piece of cheese into his mouth. “I’ve been giving some thought to that climate theory of yours, Lark. I’ve decided it doesn’t fly. It takes too many years for changes to take place. Temperature’s one thing, but vegetation doesn’t grow overnight.”

“What about species that can adapt to a variety of food supplies?” Harry asked, stepping over to join them. “Are you saying they won’t change their ranges as global temperatures rise?”

“Some will, some won’t,” replied Andrew. “I was talking to Lark.”

“Did you read that study in the
Journal
?” persisted Harry.

“Yes. And I’ll grant you, it shows that some of the warblers’ ranges have pushed north, but there are any number of reasons for that.”

“Name a few.”

Lark leaned her head back and listened to the men debate. Theories aside, she’d seen the bird. Twice. “You know, I saw the bird—”

“Shhh!” Andrew held up his hand. “Did anyone else hear that?”

“Hear what?” Gertie asked.

“
Wi tsi-wi tsi-wi si-wi-wi-wichu,”
Andrew said, imitating the call.

“How do you do that?” Rachel asked. “That bird sounded just like it. How does he do that?”

“Listen,” he said. “Do you hear it?”

Wi tsi-wi tsi-wi si-wi-wi-wichu
. The notes, sweet and clear, drifted across the meadow.

“He’s somewhere in those trees,” Harry said, training a pair of binoculars on a stand of aspen and pine trees growing closer to the creek.

“Where?” Dorothy asked.

Eric looked to Andrew, then Harry. “What is it? A black-throated gray?”

“Maybe.”

“No,” Andrew blurted, a look of incredulity on his face. “And I don’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“That is the song of the red-faced warbler.”