Mesozoic Murder (23 page)

Dorbandt stared at the screen. “Can you print that out?”

“Certainly.”

“Thanks, Doctor Fletcher. Just get me an invoice for the test expenses and sign my chain of custody receipt, and I'm done here.” He reached into a breast pocket to pull out the form.

Fletcher took it and moved off to gather his materials. “I'll also give you a copy of the DNA photo and a picture of a hoatzin to take back.”

Dorbandt moved toward the front lobby. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Fiskar's home phone.

“Fiskar residence,” said a female voice after two rings.

“Is Odie there?”

“Who's calling?”

“Detective Dorbandt.”

“Just a minute.”

Odie came on a second later. “Reid, you're up early.”

“Sorry to call the house, Odie, but this can't wait.”

“It's okay. Did you get the feather analyzed?”

“Just. It's from a South American bird called a hoatzin. Listen, when you go into the office this morning, I need you to grab a red file on my desk. It has a list of every person involved in the Capos case. I want you to drop everything and see if anybody on it has taken a trip to South America during the past two years. Check everything commercial or rental. Planes, boats, and charters. Call me pronto if there's a hit. If I don't hear from you first, I'll check in during my layover at Billings. Got that?”

“Right. When will you be back?”

“Sometime in the afternoon. I still have to book a flight out of Missoula.” Dorbandt grinned. “Tell McKenzie I'm on my way.”

Chapter 31

Ansel arrived at the Arrowhead Ranch at noon the next day. The Beastly Buffet had begun, and more than a hundred vehicles were already parked in a mowed field next to the horse pasture behind the main house.

She waved at the ranch hand directing attendees through a cattle gate and onto a flat, tree-lined patch of land used as a calving ground during the late summer months. Before leaving the truck, she put on her hat and strapped on her fanny pouch, the trusty Colt crammed inside.

The air smelled of barbecued meat, exhaust fumes, and trampled grass. Ansel donned her sunglasses and looked up. Thank goodness the weather was cooperating. A cloudless, turquoise sky hung overhead, and the temperature had risen into the lower eighties with a constant eight-mile-per-hour breeze coming from the west.

As she walked toward the buffet, Ansel saw that Pearl had spared no expense. Four huge tents were tethered on the grassy turf, each situated next to pine trees for optimum shade. Three served as buffet stations for appetizers, entrees, and desserts. The fourth contained long tables and chairs where people could sit, eat, and drink.

Ansel tried to concentrate on enjoying the buffet, but her mind replayed her theories revolving around Nick, Evelyn, Stouraitis, and a dinosaur trapped in resin. She'd finally read Leslie's paper on caustobioliths and spent most of the night doing Internet research on amber,
Archaeopteryx
, and Double Eagle coins.

She'd discovered why Nick hadn't stashed two million dollars inside the bee hive. A Saint-Gaudens Double Eagle coin minted in 1927 by the Denver mint was the rarest U.S. coin in the world. More than one hundred eighty thousand of the coins had been produced, but, they were later collected and melted down by the government. For this reason and because undiscovered hoards of the coins were believed to be stashed in European banks to this day, a single coin in uncirculated condition could sell for $675,000 on the numismatic market.

With three coins in his possession, Nick could have gone anywhere in the world and sold them to recoup their two-million-dollar cash value. It was brilliant. The vintage coins were easy to transport and legal to have and sell as collectibles. As Nick's assets, they would have been practically untraceable.

Ansel had no doubt that Stouraitis had paid with the coins. The lovely, one Troy ounce of golden metal with an inscribed eagle and a woman in a toga-style gown would appeal to his taste for rare bird treasures. Stouraitis could have gotten the coins anywhere, including on the European black market.

She passed an eight-foot-long charcoal pit centered among the phalanx of tents. A huge metal rack set across the block pit supported half a split buffalo carcass, and a hired server continually sliced off juicy pieces. Nearby a high-volume, five-man country western band stood on a wooden platform and belted out a Garth Brooks tune. Next to the band was a large refreshment trailer that served as a full-service bar powered by a belching gas generator. A burly, cowboy bartender couldn't dispense the drinks over the counter fast enough.

Her stomach rumbled as every plate filled with exotic goodies passed by her. Her appetite had dwindled after she had nearly been poisoned by a maniac with a dart gun, but now it had returned with a vengeance.

Ansel walked through the surging crowd of dancing couples, running kids, and group huddles of all sizes and types. Everyone was decked out in their cowboy finest, from ten-gallon hats to alligator-hide boots, and she knew most of the people who made the joyful affair a colorful swirl of bright colors and gay voices.

Smiling, Pearl rushed from a crowd of partygoers and grabbed her arm. “Ansel, I was getting worried. Thought you'd be here earlier.”

Ansel gave her stepmother a hug and a kiss. “I had to do some bee repairs,” she said, thinking of her morning spent waiting as Feltus Pitt finished up the hive work.

Before sunset the day before, she'd returned to the apiary and replaced the missing hive box and metal cover. Pitt, God bless him, hadn't made a single comment about his bee suit having grass stains all over it, though she'd given them a quick toss into her washing machine.

“I'll tell you all about it later. Did the crow gut arrive?”

“It sure did. Jessie and Lucy are here somewhere. You look tired. I was going to drag you around to meet friends, but let's get something to eat first. Maybe we'll see your father.”

They were both ravenous and decided to go directly into the entree tent. Heated stainless steel trays were set up on long tables with black tablecloths. Beside each entree, a numbered eight-by-ten sheet had been taped, describing the dish, its recipe, and lines for people to sign their names. Each name represented one vote toward selecting the item as the best appetizer, entree or dessert dish of the Beastly Buffet. Near the end of the party, the winners would be announced. Originality, taste, and gross-out factor figured in the voting process to varying degrees, and the lucky winners would get a special mystery prize to take home with them.

Ansel looked over the exotic fare. Most of the main dishes contained common domestic and wild meats. The challenge for the cooks was to prepare something edible from highly unusual body parts such as heads, snouts, eyes, ears, jowls, feet, udders, and tails. Ansel stopped at a tray holding Rocky Mountain Oysters and laughed. Somebody always made this infamous Montana recipe for deep-fried bull testicles.

Ansel noted some of the most unusual entrees: roast polar bear, Canadian lynx stew, curried kangaroo tail, savory seal hearts, french-fried skunk, woodchuck chili, fried beaver tail, muskrat burgers, rat kabobs, mice meatballs, fruit bat soup, jellied caribou snouts, stuffed camel, roast emu, swan gizzards, hoot owl pie, iguana soup, and lizard tongue macaroni and cheese.

She also saw weird seafood entrees like stuffed squid with chocolate sauce, octopus eye stew, whale Bobotee, and baked cod fish tongues. Giant land snail with mushroom sauce, slug fritters, and earthworm pasta made up a slimy contingent of dishes as well.

“What looks like the best of the worst to you?” asked Pearl as they circumnavigated the tables together, filling their plates very slowly.

Ansel winced. The insect recipes were the worst for her, and there was a great supply of creepy-crawly things. She eyed beetle biscuits, fried green tomato hornworms, mealworm fried rice, sour cream locusts, bee grub scrambled eggs, french fried maggots, dragonfly gazpacho, ant brood tacos, crickets and beans salad, grasshopper pasta, cicada souffle, and broiled moth cakes. The most memorable dishes were the tarantula salad and the garlic wood louse bread sticks.

“I'd say the giant silk worm pupae quiche. Did you see the size of those things? They were bigger than mice.” Ansel grimaced, placing a helping of crow casserole next to a previous dollop of curried kangaroo tail. Kangi beware, she thought, remembering the Red Rose scam artist.

Pearl giggled. “I'm voting for the seal brain fritters. Your crow gut is going fast.”

“That's because it's made with ingredients that cowards like me will eat. Elk intestines turned inside out and stuffed with meat and vegetables looks tame around here.”

While walking toward the dining tent, people stopped to say hello and chat. Ansel dutifully chuckled with the Big Toe mayor and his wife, the chief of police, and a couple of old family friends. Everyone wanted to discuss the strychnine murders, while Pearl wanted to discuss the news that Ansel was still single and available to the right man.

When they reached the dining tent, Pearl set her plate on the table and left for the beer wagon. Ansel sat and began eating, nodding and waving to everyone she knew at the same time. Suddenly, her father plopped into Pearl's empty seat.

“Hey, honey. I heard you were over here.”

Her father looked good, all dressed up in a teal color-block shirt, black jeans, lizard-skin belt, concha-button boots, and a white Specialist hat.

“Hi, Daddy. I've missed you.” She gave him a big hug, latching on as if she might not see him again. Her experience the day before had made her appreciate her family more than ever.

He patted her back. “You wouldn't miss me if you stayed at the ranch. I don't like the idea of you being at the trailer. We agreed you should stay home until these murders are solved.”

Ansel pulled away. If he knew someone had tried to kill her with a poison dart, he'd be horrified. She wasn't going to ruin the party for him. “I know, but I'm a big girl now.”

“Sure,” Chase said, giving her a scrutinizing stare. “Is Detective Dorbandt coming?”

She picked at her food. “He's out of town. Chasing leads.”

“I don't know, Sarcee. He might show up. I've seen the way he looks at you.”

“Yeah, like a murder suspect. Speaking of suspicious behaviors, why were you two giving each other funny looks before you drove away from my trailer the other night?”

Chase used two fingers and grabbed a piece of kangaroo meat from her plate. “What is this? Tastes like spotted mule and piccalilli sauce.”

“Don't change the subject.”

Chase gave her a cagey smile. “Why don't you ask Dorbandt?”

“Never mind. He and I are oil and vinegar.”

Chase laughed. “Which are you?”

Ansel made a face. “Very funny.”

“Hey, I'm just curious who's at the top of the jug?”

“Me.”

“Figures.” Chase shook his head. “Smooth on the palate, but slicker than a wet noodle to get a bite hold on.”

Ansel smirked. “I think Dorbandt's already found that out.”

“Oh, I don't doubt that a bit. Well, remember that oil and vinegar can make one great vinaigrette,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Ansel's features darkened. “Don't even think it, Daddy. I have absolutely no interest in Dorbandt.”

“What are you two jaybirds squawking about now?” Pearl appeared, bearing two large plastic cups of beer.

Chase stood so Pearl could have the seat. “Salads.”

Pearl sat down and passed a cup to Ansel. She looked up at Chase. “Are you going to eat with us?”

“No, I've got to patrol the fences. Nothing worse than city slickers going loco on firewater.”

“You'd better eat or your blood sugar will go south on you,” Pearl said.

“I had a slab of buffalo ribs. I'll catch up with you two in a bit.”

“Talk to you later, Daddy.”

“You bet,” he said as he gave them a wave and departed.

Pearl and she quickly finished their meals, drank their beers, and gabbed for another fifteen minutes until Pearl said, “I've got to circulate. Want to come with me?”

Ansel shook her head. “I think I'll go to the dessert tent. Go have fun.”

“Are you sure you're all right? You seem distracted. Anything you want to talk about?”

“I'm great. I'll catch up to you.”

Pearl left reluctantly and Ansel wandered through the dessert tent. The chocolate-covered grasshoppers, jellied bug blox, candied cricket Spumoni sorbet, mealworm chocolate chip cookies, and maggot cake did nothing for her. She settled on the dubious choice of a cow udder eclair, only because it was smothered in chocolate syrup and whipped cream. As she walked out of the tent with her plate, Lydia Hodges appeared.

“Hi, Ms. Phoenix,” she said. “I'm glad I found you.”

Ansel was very surprised to see Lydia. “Hi. How are you doing?”

“All right. Especially since I'm out of school. How about you?”

“I'm fine. I'm just glad the funeral is over. I was really surprised to see you there.”

“I wasn't really comfortable going, but I'm glad I went. Tim said it would be a catharsis for me to go. You know, so I wouldn't always think of Mr. Capos looking like we found him in that horrible grave. He was right,” Lydia said. “He's here, too.”

Ansel took a small taste of her salty, chocolate dessert. “Tim?”

“Uh huh. We met in the parking lot. He's at the bar getting us a drink.”

“My, you two are becoming a pair, aren't you?” Ansel teased.

Lydia's cheeks flared crimson. “I wouldn't say that. We just have a few things in common, that's all.”

“Like what?”

“Well, we both like to cook. Tim makes a wonderful roast suckling pig. It's fabulous. I think it's the orange juice the meat is soaked in before cooking that makes the meat so good. He says that orange juice is a deoxidizer that tenderizes meat.”

Ansel wondered if Tim used California Valencia oranges for his gourmet meals just as she looked up to see him walking toward them. He was wearing his usual jeans, flowered Hawaiian shirt, boots, and white hat. His 35mm camera hung around his neck. He also carried two frosty cups of brew.

“Hi, Miss Phoenix,” he said before passing a beer to Lydia. “Hope it's cold enough for you.”

Lydia looked at Tim with unabashed adoration. “It's perfect.”

“How are you, Tim?”

Tim turned toward her. His blue eyes darkened a bit. “Super. How about you?”

“No complaints,” Ansel said. “How do you like the buffet so far?”

Tim sipped his beer. “I like it a lot. I thought it would be cool to see how exotic animal foods look and taste. And Lydia talked me into it.” He gave the girl a glance, then turned back toward Ansel. “What are you eating?”

“Something called a cow udder eclair. I could live without it.”

“Sounds disgusting,” Lydia said.

Tim laughed. “Last summer when I was on a blackwater lake near Iquitos, South America, the local Yanomamo Indians showed me how to cut out the lean meat from fourteen-inch-long walking stick insects, roast it in a small cauldron, and add it to a boiled soup made with native greens and herbs. Of course, I had to eat some. To be polite.”

Lydia scowled. “What did it taste like?”