Rant of Ravens (3 page)

The doors of the barn stood partially open. Rachel heard angry voices and stopped at the threshold.

“You can’t
really
believe William had anything to do with what happened to those falcons.”

Rachel recognized the voice as Miriam’s.

“Why shouldn’t I believe that, Mrs. Tanager? Everything I’ve uncovered points to his guilt. Now that he’s dead, I’d hoped you’d be willing to share what you know. Or maybe you’re hiding something, too.”

“I’ve listened to enough of your prattle. I want you to leave.”

“Why? Because I’ve uncovered a scheme you don’t want your bird friends knowing about? One way or another, it’s all coming out.”

Rachel stepped from the sunlight into a large barn lined with cages. A one-winged bald eagle perched on an aspen stand, tethered to a stake anchored in the center of the earthen floor. Agitated, it opened and snapped its beak shut several times.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Rae!” Miriam stepped toward her. The standard version of a Wilder woman, Miriam was small-boned and stood all of five-two. Her red hair and freckles were faded by age, but her hazel eyes shone dark with anger. “This is Mr. Bursau. He was just leaving.”

Ignoring Rachel, the reporter stood hunched over Miriam, his shoulders drawn to his ears like a vulture poised over carrion. “You don’t really want to send me away, Mrs. Tanager. You know as well as I that this story deserves to be told.”

“Perhaps so, Mr. Bursau.” The tension in Miriam’s voice was palpable. The tethered eagle stretched, flapping its wing.

Bursau spun on his heel and pushed past Rachel, slamming the barn door into the siding. Birds screeched in annoyance. “Some of these people are dangerous, Mrs. Tanager,” he called from the doorway. “Watch your back.” Then he was gone.

Miriam sighed. Her face relaxed, and she straightened the hem of her sweater before speaking. “What a perfectly despicable man.”

“Who was he?”

“Donald Bursau, a reporter for
Birds of a Feather
magazine. Someone worth putting out of your mind.” Miriam soothed the eagle, then turned and hugged Rachel. “Now, let’s have a look at you. I’m so happy you’re here.”

Rachel returned Miriam’s hug, but remained curious about the reporter. “What story was he talking about?”

Miriam shook her head. “The man has some insane notion that your Uncle William was involved in some wild bird trafficking scheme. Something that took place years ago.” Miriam swiped her hand through the air and turned away. “He’s simply crazy.”

The fact that Miriam had busied herself with the eagle and wouldn’t look her in the eye aroused Rachel’s suspicions.

“He seemed pretty sincere about his warning.”

“He may believe some of William’s associates are involved, Rae. He may even believe some are dangerous. But I say he’s full of bird doo.”

Rachel had met a few of William Tanager’s colleagues, a group of ornithologists who at their worst might be accused of boring a non-birder to sleep. They certainly didn’t seem like dangerous individuals. At least not by most people’s definition.

“What do you say we drop the subject, Rachel? After all, you’ve just arrived.” Miriam linked arms with her niece and guided her toward the open doors. “I assume you saw Lark in the kitchen.”

“I did,” Rachel said, not ready to change the topic of conversation. “Getting back to—”

“She’s such a wonderful girl.”

“Aunt Miriam!”

“I just know you’re going to become fast friends again.”

Rachel threw up her hands. “Okay, you win.” There wasn’t much she could do if Aunt Miriam refused to discuss her conversation with the reporter. “But I reserve the right to bring it up later.”

“Done,” Miriam said, unlinking her arm from Rachel’s. She brushed her hands together. “Now that that’s settled, help me lock up. We’ll go out the back, so I can make one stop on the way to the house. And we’ll need to hurry, dear. We don’t want to be late.”

“Late for what?”

“The EPOCH meeting.”

Rachel had forgotten all about it. Well, it was too late to beg off now.

Once the barn doors were secure, Miriam led Rachel between two rows of caged birds, through a room furnished like a veterinarian’s surgical area, and out the rear door, where a maze of covered walkways linked the barn to six large outbuildings.

The center hadn’t been complete the last time Rachel was here. In fact, they’d only just finished the conversion of the old barn. “What are all these buildings used for?” she asked.

“The big barn, where we just were, is the intensive care unit,” Miriam replied. “The rest of the buildings house birds being readied for release.” She pointed to the farthest one on the right, and ticked them off in order. “That’s the Nesting Compound for burrowing owls. Freedom House is where the birds get their final test flights before being returned to the wild. The Pygmy House shelters the smaller owls and the kestrels. The Eagles’ Eyrie speaks for itself, and Protective Custody House is the hospital ward.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Collegiate Hall, the educational wing.” Miriam unlocked the door, stepped into a cramped hallway and flipped on a dim, overhead light. “The cages in all the buildings come equipped with a type of double-door entry system, to help prevent accidental releases. The inside walls have narrow cuts in them for observation.”

Rachel cupped her hands over her nose. The air inside smelled of bird, damp wood, and thawed meat. Rachel forced herself to follow Miriam, cringing as the door clicked shut behind them.

“Collegiate Hall has seven cages,” Miriam continued. “Down here, at the end, we have two juvenile peregrine falcons. Their mother was shot and killed in the park, when they were barely a week old.”

Miriam stopped, and Rachel pressed her face close to the observation slits, grateful for the soft movement of air. “Isn’t it illegal to shoot falcons?”

“Of course, dear, but that doesn’t stop anyone. We were just lucky to find the eyasses before they starved to death, or were eaten by predators.”

Rachel peered through the slit into a cage the size of a living room. It was constructed of solid wood panels on one side and of cedar slats one inch apart on the other. Ankle-deep vegetation grew from the earthen floor. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the light, then sought out the birds. Downy white and robin-sized, they perched on the edge of a makeshift cliff nest.

“They’re a lot smaller than I expected,” she commented. “How old are they?”

“Around three weeks.” Miriam fumbled with the latch on the inside door. “We’re moving them to a hacking box next week.”

“I hate to sound ignorant, Aunt Miriam, but what is that?”

A smile flickered across her aunt’s face. “It’s a wooden platform, dear. It’s set in a protected area where the eyasses are kept until they fledge. We prefer placing orphans with wild young of a similar age, but in this case it wasn’t possible.”

“You mean, like foster parenting for birds?”

“Exactly.”

The latch gave with a sharp click. The nestlings hissed.

“Once they’ve hacked, we’ll continue to feed them until they acquire the necessary skills to survive on their own and migrate.” Miriam approached the nest. The eyasses cackled, and one struck out with its foot.

“Feisty little things,” Rachel said.

“Yes, but they still have to learn how to hunt and protect themselves.”

“From what? Aren’t they at the top of the food chain?”

“Close, though they’re sometimes targeted by other raptors. Once these juveniles fly, their risks diminish, but then there are other dangers to face.”

“Such as?”

“The biggest threat,” Miriam said, pulling a package of food from her pocket, “is man.”

Miriam ripped open the
plastic seal on the package, pulled out several long strips of raw meat, and tossed them to the young falcons. “The big ways are obvious. Habitat encroachment, pesticide usage, that sort of thing.”

“And…?” Rachel prompted, convinced that Miriam was leaving something unsaid. Miriam flung another piece of meat onto the feeding board.

“And, up until fifteen years ago, there was a huge international market for peregrines for falconries overseas.”

The young birds tore at the raw flesh, staining their beaks and feathers red. Rachel’s stomach churned. “What happened fifteen years ago? Did the market just dry up?”

“The government cracked down, and people started breeding the birds in captivity. Reintroduction of the peregrines has been so successful the government is considering delisting them.”

Now for the million-dollar question. “So how does this tie in with Donald Bursau’s article?”

Miriam jerked her head up and stared at Rachel, hazel eyes darkening. “He thinks your uncle William was involved in the disappearance of an adult peregrine and her eyas from the park in 1984. I told him that was absurd, that your uncle William was a renowned ornithologist, top in his field, who devoted a lifetime to the protection and study of birds. I refuse to let some overzealous reporter go and spoil all that.”

“Does Bursau have any proof to back up his allegations?”

Miriam kicked at the ankle-deep grass growing on the floor of the falcons’ cage. Blood poured from the bag in her hand, dampening the blades. “He claims to, but he wouldn’t share it with me. Frankly, I think he’s bluffing.”

The questions were obviously upsetting Miriam. Rachel considered dropping the subject again, but there was no way she could help unless she knew what was going on. “How does he think Uncle William acquired the birds?”

“Bursau claims the birds were brought into the Raptor House for treatment, then disappeared.” Miriam stepped into the hallway and pulled the cage door shut. “I told him it wasn’t possible. William ran a tight ship, and we kept records on every bird brought in.”

“What kind of records?”

“
Accurate
ones.” Miriam’s hands trembled as she reached for the handle on the outside door. “The treatment a bird receives, how long it’s here, when it’s released, is all documented.”

Rachel stepped outside, squinting in the bright sunlight. She gulped fresh air, feeling freed herself.

She knew from previous discussions with Miriam that nearly ninety-three percent of the birds treated at Raptor House survived. Unfortunately, not all ended up fit for release back to the wild. “What happens if a bird can’t be rehabilitated?”

Miriam fiddled with the door lock. “Around twenty to thirty percent of the birds end up in educational programs, like Isaac, the eagle you saw in the barn.”

“So all of the birds get placed somewhere.” It was nice to know that with a little help from the species annihilating them, the majority of the birds survived.

A shadow crossed Miriam’s face. “Unfortunately, we can’t always find programs for the more seriously injured.”

“What happens to them?”

“They’re euthanized, dear.”

A few minutes later, Rachel found herself seated on the patio off the kitchen with a glass of pink lemonade clutched in her hand. Lark had dragged a chair up beside her. The seven other attendees pulled their seats into a semicircle around Aunt Miriam.

Gertie arrived just as the EPOCH meeting officially came to order. Rachel nodded at her. Gertie shrugged in response.

“First,” Miriam said, gesturing toward Rachel, “I’d like to introduce my niece. She’ll be staying at Bird Haven while I’m gone. And the good news is, she’s agreed to host the weekly EPOCH meetings.”

Rachel smiled, acknowledging the brief round of applause following Miriam’s announcement. As a whole, the gathered birdwatchers bore little resemblance to the elderly gaggle Rachel had envisioned. Ranging in age from thirty-something to their mid-sixties, they made up more of a middle-aged gaggle.

“I think we should go around and introduce ourselves,” Gertie said. She’d situated herself on the other side of Lark, scrunching her extra-wide fanny onto the medium-sized chair. She still wore her dark hair cropped short, and with her pug nose, she looked like an overfed Boston terrier. “I’ll start even though, being cousins by marriage, Rachel knows me. FYI, I’m also EPOCH’s newsletter editor. It’s nice to see you.”

“Ditto,” Rachel said, mustering little enthusiasm.

Lark grinned and elbowed her in the ribs. “We’ve met, so I’ll pass.”

The next person in line pointed to the woman beside her. “This is my sister, Cecilia Meyer. She’s our treasurer. I’m Dorothy MacBean. Welcome to Elk Park.”

The women bobbed their heads in rhythm, like two Taco Bell chihuahuas. Both had pale skin, gray eyes, and stylishly permed hair. Rachel wondered if they were twins. If they weren’t, their family resemblance rivaled that of the Wilder women. Accessory color seemed to be their only distinguishing feature. Dorothy wore pink. Cecilia wore blue.

A straight-backed man sitting beside Miriam leaned forward. He looked vaguely familiar to Rachel, his short, gray hair complimenting a pair of ice-blue eyes. He sported a small diamond stud in his left earlobe. “Charles Pendergast, here. I was a childhood friend of your Uncle Will’s. Actually, I believe we’ve met before.” He reached over and patted Miriam’s knee. “I’ve known your aunt quite a long time.”

Rachel noticed the tip of his right index finger was missing, then averted her eyes, wondering if her aunt returned his obvious interest. He wasn’t the first man to set his sights on the widow. God knew, Aunt Miriam could take care of herself.

“I’m Forest Nettleman,” the man beside Charles declared. He stood, and squeezed Rachel’s hand in a firm grip. “U.S. Representative for the 4th District. We’re pleased to have you with us, very pleased. And we’re glad to know that you’ve agreed to host our meetings in your aunt’s absence. I don’t just speak for myself when I say we hope you’re planning to join us on some of our birding adventures. We have quite an active club here in Elk Park. We pride ourselves on—”

“Thank you, Forest,” interjected Miriam. She quickly introduced the last two members of the group, Andrew and Opal Henderson, a couple who lived in a small town down the valley. Andrew, who must have weighed four hundred pounds, had a balding pate and wispy goatee. Opal looked undernourished, and wore her thick, dull hair piled high on her head.

The introductions completed, Miriam turned to the first order of business, a motion to approve the minutes of the last meeting. Gertie’s hand shot up.

“There’s an error in the second line of paragraph four that needs correction, Miriam. Towhee was misspelled.”

“Thank you, Gertie. Anything else?” Miriam glanced around the circle. “No? Then will someone please make a motion?”

“I move we accept the minutes,” Dorothy said.

“Do I have a second?”

“I’ll second,” Lark said.

“Thank you. Discussion? All in favor? Opposed? The minutes are approved.”

Rachel listened as Miriam conducted the meeting in a fashion that would have garnered approval from the Robert of
Robert’s Rules of Order
. With a businesslike formality reminiscent of Images Plus, Miriam heard from whom she wanted, keeping Gertie on a tight leash at all times.

“All right, then, we’re down to new business.”

Gertie raised her hand.

“Yes?” Miriam clearly was exasperated.

“I had a message on my voice mail this morning from a Donald Bursau. For those of you who don’t know who he is, he’s a reporter from
Birds of a Feather
magazine. He was asking to set up an interview regarding Daddy. His message indicated he was coming out to talk with you this afternoon, Miriam.” Gertie’s hands fluttered in the air. “Did he?”

Miriam glanced at Rachel, then nodded. “Yes, he was here.”

“It sounded to me like he plans to do a feature story on
my
father.”

Rachel avoided her cousin’s gaze. Gertie seemed excited. Obviously the content of his story remained unknown to her. She must think Bursau was planning a favorable piece.

“I’m not sure what he’s going to write, Gertie,” Miriam said. “He was asking a lot of questions about the Raptor House operation. I referred him to Eric.”

“He must have given some indication of what he planned to do.” Gertie held up a full-color, glossy magazine, and panned it in front of the EPOCH members. “You must all realize that Donald Bursau isn’t just
any
reporter. He’s the Geraldo Rivera of the bird world. If he’s interested in doing an article on my father and the Raptor House, we should
all
be included. After all, we helped build the rehabilitation center. It would be good publicity for our group. And, for that matter, Elk Park in general.”

“As I said, Gertie, I referred him to Eric.” Miriam pushed back a strand of hair and forced a smile. “Now is there any other new business before we adjourn? If not, then will someone please move—”

“Hold on.” A tall man had stepped around the corner of the house and jogged toward them. His brown hair was clipped short around the ears, barely brushing the collar of his rumpled Park Ranger uniform. Dark glasses obscured his eyes, and long, tanned legs disappeared into a pair of oatmeal socks and hiking boots.

“Well, speak of the devil.” Gertie grinned smugly. “Maybe I’ll get an answer to my questions.”

Rachel nudged Lark. “Who’s he?”

“Eric Linenger, the ranger assigned to the Raptor House. Not to mention, Elk Park’s most eligible bachelor.” Her expression said she’d auditioned for the girlfriend role, and hadn’t gotten a callback.

“What is it, Eric? Is something wrong?” Miriam turned toward the Raptor House. Rachel conjured an image of the baby peregrines hissing.

“No, everything’s fine,” he said in a thick Scandinavian accent. “But a group of birders just spotted a LeConte’s sparrow down at The Thicket.”

A hum rose from the membership.

“Are you sure? Has the sighting been confirmed?” Charles Pendergast slid to the edge of his chair, his fingers tapping on the armrest.

“
Ja
. Harry Eckles is down there now. He verified the identification.”

“Harry is another regular member,” Lark whispered. “A biology professor at the University of Colorado in Boulder. He’s one guy who knows his species.” She pulled a small book from her pocket, thumbed to the picture of a multicolored bird, then pointed to a small map colored in purples and pinks. “This is the range map.”

“We can’t believe it,” Dorothy exclaimed, apparently speaking for herself and Cecilia. “The LeConte’s sparrow is practically unheard of in these parts.”

Cecilia nodded.

“But it’s here,” Eric said.

“This is one for my life list,” Nettleman declared. “How about the rest of you?”

Hands shot up. Pendergast stood. The hum grew louder.

“What’s a life list?” Rachel asked.

“A birdwatcher’s record.” Lark pulled a folder from her pocket and handed it over. “It’s a checklist of all the birds you spot in a lifetime.”

“Order!” Aunt Miriam demanded, pounding her fist on the table. The clamor of excited voices dwindled to a respectful buzz. “That’s better. Now, I know this is exciting, but we need to stay calm and organized. The first thing we should do is call the other members.”

Rachel leaned closer to Lark. “How many more are there?”

“Forty or so. Only about fifteen are active, and only about half of those show up.” Lark slapped her thigh. “The rest are probably down at The Thicket. Darn! I should have known something was up when Harry didn’t show up for the meeting.”

“Hush!” Miriam glared at Lark and Rachel. Several of the others slid back their chairs and stood. Miriam waved them back down. “I know everyone’s anxious, but… has someone notified the hot line?”

“
Ja
, Harry called it in.”

“That means Elk Park is under an official rare bird alert,” Gertie said, her shrill voice rising to a shriek.

“It looks that way,” Eric agreed.

“What happens now?” Rachel asked.

Lark shrugged. “We all race down to The Thicket and hope the bird is still there. If we miss it, we stake out the area, hoping it shows up again.”

“Won’t we scare it off, racing down there en masse?”

“Let’s hope not. There are a lot of people, like me, who would kill for a look at that bird.”