Death Takes a Gander (11 page)

It was funny how people hang on to certain baggage. To her, it felt like yesterday.

“In case you’re interested,” he continued, “I’m single again.”

The smooth talk rolling off his tongue raised her resolve. Angela smiled. Somehow knowing things hadn’t worked out for him made
her
feel better.

“I still care about you, Peeps.”

“So sad,” she said, not caring if it sounded cold. “For the record, I’m not interested.” She savored the rejection flickering across his face. “You know what bothers me most?” she asked. “It’s the conflict of interest you’ve got here. Tell me, was your friendship with Donald Tauer the reason you couldn’t help out with the geese?”

Nathan looked shocked. “Are you questioning my integrity?”

“Only if the shoe fits.”

“I had a good reason for not helping. Besides, I was under no obligation to intervene for you.”

“What was the reason?”

“Hey, Angel,” hollered Frakus. “I expect you back here in an hour.”

Angela resisted the urge to flip him the bird.

Nathan frowned. “He doesn’t seem to like you much.”

“Hmmmm.” That was the understatement of the decade. “What reason?” she repeated.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Convenient.”

Nathan stepped closer and dropped his voice. “Trust me, Angela, there’s stuff going on you know nothing about. Let it rest before somebody else gets hurt.”

Angela stopped dead in her tracks.

His eyes locked on hers. “I don’t want to see anything happen to you.”

Her heart stumbled. The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard, and, for a moment, she deluded herself into believing he cared. Suddenly, walking beside him was more than she could handle.

“Look, I’ve got to run.”

Sprinting ahead, she left him panting at the door to the Visitors Center. It felt good to leave him behind; like a karmic rite of passage, closure was at hand.

Once inside her truck, she allowed her emotions to dissolve into tears. In the past four weeks, she had been first on the scene in two separate incidents, both involving men she had worked with. First Ian. Now Eric. One dead. One clinging to life. What were the odds?

The situations bore similarities, but they’d occurred a month apart and in two different locations. The only commonalities were the proximity of water and the sick waterfowl. Was there a chance they were interrelated, or was she letting Linda Verbiscar get to her?

Eric had fallen through the ice hole of a locked fishing hut. Ian had strangled in the mist nets. Ian’s death had been ruled a suicide. Eric’s accident was under investigation.

A sudden chill caused her to rub her arms. Details of both nights played through her mind. She could feel the cold. Hear the call of the swan, the honking of geese. And in that instant, she knew they had missed something.

Eric’s accident and Ian’s
death were connected
.

Angela found it impossible to shake the idea. She had never believed Ian’s death was a suicide, or even an accident. From the start, she had thought it was connected with the person he had met with earlier on the afternoon of his death. Now she tried remembering what he had told her about the case he was working. She dug deep and surfaced with little.

There was the fact that he was out at Barr Lake investigating the report of a sick bird, and she seemed to remember some of his notes indicating he’d recorded a number of animal die-offs along the Front Range. Maybe he’d figured out the source of the poison, and someone had wanted the secret held.

The Raptor House loomed in front of her, and she felt the muscles in her chest tighten. Delivering bad news was one duty of being a law officer she had yet to perform. Her worst fears were realized when Dorothy collapsed upon hearing the news. Angela helped the older woman to a car in the parking lot and assigned a volunteer to drive her home. After that, she answered a flurry of questions.

“Will he be okay?” someone asked.

Angela shook her head. “Truthfully, it’s too soon to know.”

“How did it happen?”

“The
accident
is under investigation.” A fudge, but she didn’t dare tell them the truth, that someone had pushed Eric through a hole in the ice. Not until the investigation was complete.

Most surprising were the number of questions focusing on details. Obviously some of the birdwatchers liked
C.S.I.
They pelted her with questions regarding the forensics of the scene.

Once satiated, the EPOCH volunteers resumed their work, and Angela seized the opportunity to duck into Eric’s office and use the phone to call Kramner.

After briefing him on the situation, she tossed out her thoughts. “You have to admit, sir, there are common threads in the cases.”

“You’re reaching, Dimato.”

Silence played on the line. Not knowing how to respond, she let it broaden.

“Let’s say your idea has merit,” he said. “What is it you want?”

It was the first sign of concession, and Angela pounced on the opening. “I want permission to investigate the link between the poisonings.”

Asking him to allow her to investigate anything more would be pushing the envelope, but she could do that in the process.

“We don’t need a department scandal, Dimato. Nor can we afford to create ill will between U.S. Fish and Wildlife and the town of Elk Park.” He sounded breathless, and she pictured him pacing. “I expect any findings to come straight through me.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. He was giving her the go-ahead.

Angela sat up straighter. “Then I have your permission?”

“As long as you stick to the birds, Dimato.”

“I pinky swear.” She could tell he had no clue what she meant. “Scout’s honor.”

“And no big expenditures,” he added. “There’s a budget crunch on.”

Fifty people sick!
The number was staggering. Lark rubbed her eyes, hoping to blot out the figure scribbled on the desk blotter. According to the nurse at the Elk Park hospital, they had started referring patients to hospitals in Denver. Given the facts and the symptoms, and pending official lab results, the victims were being treated for lead poisoning.

“We might as well lock the doors, Stephen,” Lark said, glancing up at Velof. She was sitting at her desk. He was standing by the door. “The lawsuits will put us under in a week.”

“Wait. There’s more good news,” he responded, marching to the window. “We’ve gone national.” Pulling apart the slats in the blinds, he pointed to the KEPC-TV van in the parking lot. “Linda Verbiscar has been camped outside for an hour. The networks have picked up the story.”

“Why isn’t she down at the lake?” Lark, a volunteer firefighter, had called in when the siren sounded, so she knew someone had fallen through the ice. Enough volunteers had responded so her presence wasn’t needed on scene, but didn’t it warrant some television coverage?

“Maybe because we have multiple victims?”

“Good point,” Lark said. “Besides, who knows? Our story might win her a Pulitzer.”

Velof fixed her with a hawkish stare. “Might I suggest we have Bernie Crandall remove her from the property?”

“And have her go live with the fact that we’re squelching the public’s right to know? I don’t think so.”

Velof’s stiff demeanor crumbled. “Perhaps I should tender my resignation.”

“What, you’re not going down with the ship?”

Velof sat down, slouching in the chair.

“Pull yourself together, Stephen,” Lark said, folding her hands on the desk blotter. “I need your help. Give me a couple of days to figure things out.”

He lifted his head and regarded her through cool, blue eyes. “Do you really think you can straighten this out in two days?”

“Humor me. Look, I need you to do me a favor.” She pushed back from the desk. “Keep Linda Verbiscar out front while I slip out the back. You don’t have to lie or tell her anything. Just buy me a five-minute head start.”

“You’re leaving?” He frowned. “How come you can leave, but I can’t?” Velof stood and marched back to the window, gesturing toward the media circus with both hands. “We’re in the middle of a crisis, for god’s sake.”

“C’est la vie,” she answered, knowing the French would get his goat.

Velof scowled. “What do you expect me to do in your absence?”

“You’ll figure something out. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”

His lower lip quivered.

Was Velof afraid?

“This is over my head.”

“You’ll do fine,” she said, pulling on her parka. She felt a bit guilty about acting so cavalier. “Look, just tell Verbiscar you have no comment about anything, and ask her to leave the property. Then start calling the registrations for today and tomorrow. We may need to find alternative accommodations for some of the guests.”

“Will you at least tell me where you’re going?”

“The Raptor House.”

His lips twisted into a snarl.

“I promise, I won’t be long.”

Folding his arms across his chest, he peered down his nose at her. “You should be here, not running off to look after the fowl that got us into this mess in the first place.”

“The
fowl
are the key to the problem, Stephen. It wasn’t the geese that got us in trouble. It was Pierre Ducharme.”

Velof huffed. He clearly resented the reminder, but he had, after all, hired the chef.

In the end, he’d run interference, allowing Lark to slip out the back. Creeping behind a row of cars, she jumped into her truck and peeled out of the parking lot. Verbiscar’s hand shot up. Lark waved.

As the reporter and her cameraman bolted for the news-station van, Lark turned left at the stop sign. She intended to throw them off her tail. Keeping one eye on the rearview mirror, she turned west onto Main Street and sped downtown.

Elk Park bustled with activity. People strolled along the wide, bricked sidewalks, scraped dry except for occasional stray patches of snow. The buildings were constructed of pink or sandstone stucco with tiled roofs, and brick or white-painted clapboard with asphalt shingles. Split lampposts were spaced evenly between slender deciduous trees.

Lark waved at several people on the street, but only one or two waved back. The rest averted their faces, staring into shop windows and avoiding eye contact.

Lark’s face burned. Who did they think they were kidding? You learned who your friends were when the chips were down, especially in a small town. And, at present, she was a dangerous friend to have.

With no sign of Verbiscar, she blared the horn at Twilla Frakus, studying the fool’s gold display at the rock shop, then doubled back on Bypass Road to the Raptor House. As far as Lark could tell, she’d left Verbiscar in the dust. To be on the safe side, she parked her truck out of sight behind Miriam’s garage.

Inside, the rehab center bustled with activity. In the main room, EPOCH volunteers cleaned bedding, filled water dishes, and fed the geese. Muted sunlight crept through the windows, and dust particles swirled in the air in perfect rhythm with the honking of the geese. Winding her way through the room, she nodded to several people, who stopped what they were doing and stared. Surely they weren’t upset with her too.

“Has anyone seen Eric?”

The volunteers exchanged worried glances.

“Never mind, I’ll check the office.”

Lark barged through the building before anyone could stop her, half-annoyed by the reception—or lack thereof—and half-relieved not to have to discuss the food poisoning issue with anyone. Instead of Eric, she found Angela in the office, sitting in the desk chair and making a list. Lark tried keeping her annoyance at bay.

“Have you seen Eric?” she asked.

Angela’s head snapped up, and she paled, bringing all of her freckles to the surface. “Bernie Crandall didn’t find you?”

“No. Why?” Angela’s voice sounded strange and Lark began to worry. “Is something wrong?” Maybe Bernie was coming to arrest her. Wouldn’t that be just her luck?

Angela stood. “Maybe you should sit down.”

She stepped from behind the desk and reached for Lark’s arm. Lark sidestepped her and frowned, a sick feeling rooting itself in the pit of her stomach. “Why?”

“I have some bad news.”

Just like in the movies, when they tell someone somebody died, the tone of Angela’s voice caused Lark’s shoulders to seize. She grabbed for the back of a chair and saw Eric’s face bob in front of her eyes. Angela’s hand, warm and strong, stroked her back.

“He was the man at the lake?”

Angela nodded, and her hand stilled. “He’s alive, but—”

Lark’s legs buckled, and she struggled to stand. “But what?”

“I’m not going to deny it. He’s been hurt pretty bad,” Angela said, shoving a chair under Lark’s knees.

Lark sat down hard. “What happened?”

“There was an accident and he ended up in the water. Crandall was supposed to find you.”

Lark groped for Angela’s fingers. She squeezed them tightly, signaling her to go on.

“The firemen revived him and then took him to the hospital.”

Hot tears welled up in Lark’s eyes, and she allowed them to flow down her cheeks unchecked. Eric was her soulmate. They had just found each other. “How long ago?”

“An hour, maybe.”

Lark doubled over and braced herself for the worst. “Is he going to be okay?”

When the woman didn’t answer, Lark sat up. “Tell me, Angela. I have a right to know.”

“It’s too soon to tell.”

Lark rocked back and forth in the chair, forcing herself to breathe. Finally, she stopped and got to her feet. Her knees quaked, and she grabbed the arms of the chairs. “I have to go down there.”

Nothing else mattered. Not the geese. Not the Drummond. She needed to see Eric and hear the doctor say he would be alright.

She reached up and clutched Angela’s arm. “Take me down there. Now!”

The hospital was a two-story, white building situated on the west side of town, with beds for ten. In the reception area, cushioned chairs rimmed the outer walls, then formed two rows down the middle of the carpet. A long desk was carved out of the wall across from the entrance, and a collage of brightly tabbed medical files decorated the bookcase beyond.

The chairs were full of fishermen and, upon spying Lark, several booed.

Angela glared. Lark didn’t seem to notice.

After depositing her friend into a chair, Angela banged on the bell at the desk. “Hello?”

“Hold your horses, I’m coming.” A heavyset receptionist bustled into view. “Be patient. Can’t you see there’s a line in front of you?”

“We’re here to see, Eric, Betty,” Lark whispered from the front row.

“Oh, you poor girl, come around this way.” While Betty squeezed passed the desk to let them into the inner sanctum, Angela helped Lark to the door.

“Hey, what’s the big deal?” said a man wearing flannel. “I’ve been waiting here for an hour. Why does she get to go in?”

“Hush up,” said Betty, not unkindly. “This is a different matter. We’ll get to you next, Clyde.”

Angela slipped through behind Lark, and Betty closed the door in Clyde’s face. “Big babies, all of them.”

“Where is he?” Lark asked.

The floors beyond the doors were covered in white linoleum. The squares gleamed, giving the illusion they were slippery wet. Blue handrails, dividing whitewashed walls, ran the length of the corridor on either side, and the air smelled of antiseptic.

“I’ll have to check with the doctor to see if you can go in,” said Betty, depositing them into two chairs in the hallway. “You wait here.”

Lark plopped down, dropping her head between her knees and extending her hands to the floor.

After what seemed an eternity, a door across from them burst open, and a white-coated doctor bustled out into the hall. “I’m so sorry.”

Lark’s face drained of all color, and the doctor backpedaled. “No, no, not sorry like that. I didn’t mean to scare you. I meant, I’m sorry about what’s happened to Eric. He’s fine. I mean, he’s still alive. We’re doing everything we can.”

“Can I see him?”

“We need to locate his family,” the doctor said.

“His mother lives in Norway.” Lark’s voice sounded flat, and Angela worried she was giving up hope.

“Does he have anyone in the States?” she asked.

Lark shook her head.

“That poses a problem,” the doctor said.

“Can’t Lark serve as the next of kin? She’s the closest to him.”

“By law, it might have to be his supervisor, Nora. She’s the one who… ”

Lark’s expression caused him to trail off. Whoever Nora was, Angela could see the suggestion didn’t sit well.

“I’ll make any decisions that need to be made,” Lark said. “Now, is he going to be okay?”

The doctor wrung his hands. “The water was cold.”

“That’s a good thing,” Angela pointed out.

“She’s right,” the doctor agreed. “On top of everything else, he took a blow to the head. The cold water kept his brain from swelling.”

Angela perked up. “Did the blow come before or after he went through the ice?”