Death of a Songbird (11 page)

“Then there’s the hamlet, which oversees a number of households in an area. Marriages are usually made within a hamlet, and resources are not shared.”

The bitterness in his voice made Lark wonder if he’d fallen victim to the system. Maybe he’d been denied marriage to a girl he loved because of the ancient customs of his heritage. Or maybe he just felt their antiquated ways prevented them from getting ahead.

Norberto brushed a shock of dark hair off his forehead.

“Cordilleran flycatcher,” Art hollered.

Lark turned to where he pointed up at the cliffs overlooking the pond.

“It’s at eleven o’clock, perched high in an aspen at the base of the cliff.”

She scanned, searching among the fluttering leaves for the small bird. “Good call.” She turned back to Norberto, who had just dropped his binoculars to his chest. “So who oversees the hamlets?”

“They’re governed by townships. That is the largest unit in Indian society, the center of culture and worship. Everyone in a township’s hamlets is required to leave the household at some time and work in the township for a year. Even there, money makes a difference. The richer the farmer, the better the position he holds, the more prestige he attains, the more it benefits him spiritually.

“Townships have little communication, and each one is different. They have different customs, rules, rituals, and dress. The center of the townships is San Cristóbal de las Casas.”

The city of the postmark. Lark scanned the trees for signs of birds the group had not yet spotted. “And who lives in the city?”

“Some Indians, but
ladinos
mostly. Mixed bloods, people who speak Spanish natively and are also agrarians, but who are more apt to be formally educated and who are more aware of the world outside of the townships. Indians trade outside very little, but
ladinos
manage trade. They import and export goods and oversee the trade for the townships.”

Lark lowered her glasses. “That makes you a
ladino
, right?” She had been guessing, but Norberto’s expression told her she’d guessed correctly. “So where do you buy the coffee? In the townships, or the hamlets, or do you go to the households like my partner used to do?”

“Your partner?”

“Yeah, Esther Mills, the woman who was murdered.”

Norberto’s eyes grew wide. “You are the owner of the Warbler Café.”

“That’s me. The one who knows nothing about running a coffee business.”

He grabbed her, squeezing her arm in a tight grip. “Then you can help me. I’m looking for a woman. I’m looking for Teresa Cruz.”

Lark’s blood changed to
ice water in her veins. Norberto Rincon was looking for Teresa.

She thought back to Thursday night and his reaction when Buzz Aldefer had dropped a glass. Had he hidden in the shadows because he was afraid of Buzz or because he was afraid someone else might recognize him? Or had Buzz dropped the glass because he’d recognized Norberto? Either way, how did they know each other if Norberto wasn’t a birdwatcher? Lark’s mind sifted through the possibilities. All seemed government related.

And now Teresa was missing. Why? Had she gone into hiding underground because she recognized Norberto as a government agent, or had something happened to her?

“Let go of my arm.”

“Oh, look,” Molly cried out. “What’s that bird?”

Lark wrenched her arm free and raised her binoculars, searching in the direction Molly pointed, forcing herself to concentrate on the job at hand. She spotted the bird low on a ponderosa pine. “It’s a male three-toed woodpecker. See the yellow crown? The woodpecker was blackish, with a white strip down its back, a white line behind its eye curving downward, and its tail was black with white outer parts. Good catch, Molly.”

Art glared.

At one o’clock, having avoided any further conversation with Norberto, Lark called it a day.

“Not bad for a morning,” Dorothy said, an hour later, as she and Lark hurried down the deer path toward the Warbler Café. “The Endovalley group counted ninety species in under five hours. I think that might be a record.”

They had changed for the memorial service at the carriage house, Lark into a pair of black slacks and white and black striped shirt, and Dorothy into a black skirt with a light pink shirt. Lark had tried getting hold of Bernie to tell him about her conversation with Norberto. The police chief wasn’t in. He was probably at the Warbler for the memorial service. To be on the safe side, she’d left a message on his voice mail to call her ASAP.

Reaching the parking lot, Lark could see that the door to the Warbler stood ajar. People poured out onto the small deck, overflowing down the steps and onto the sidewalks. More people must have shown up than they’d expected. She prayed Gertie and Cecilia had been prepared.

“Never fear,” Gertie said, as they entered the café through the back door. “We’re ready.”

The Warbler appeared transformed from yesterday when Lark had been in the offices. All traces of dust and disorder were gone. The chairs were neatly arranged, congregation-style, to face the raised seating area where a table with candles, flowers, and large posters covered with pictures of Esther had been strategically placed. A small podium and microphone stood to the right.

On the coffee bar, various types of cakes and pie had been arranged, and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee permeated the air. The wooden surface gleamed with fresh oil.

“Great job,” Lark said.

“Was there ever any doubt?” Gertie flashed her a smug look, then turned to greet the first of the mourners.

Lark wandered into the back office and found Vic waiting with the minister.

“People are starting to arrive,” she informed him. “Are you ready?”

As if anyone was ever ready for a funeral. The one and only she’d been to was for William Tanager, and that one she’d attended for Miriam. It was held at the Elk Park Lutheran Church. Lark had arrived early, walking in to find an empty room with an open casket. Will was laid out in his best suit and looked tan compared to the white satin casket lining.

Gertie had arrived within minutes, followed by her older sisters, Gillian and Geraldine. Geraldine and Gertie handled things well, shedding the appropriate tears into regulation hankies. But Gillian, a matron from Houston with a guilt complex that covered her travel mileage, had let out a wail and thrown herself into the casket. She’d come up covered in flesh-toned makeup, leaving William looking scarred and Miriam sputtering mad.

Lark counted her blessings this was a memorial only: no body, and no ashes.

“It’s time, Vic.” The minister gestured toward the office door.

Vic fingered his mustache nervously.

“You’re going to get through this,” Lark told him. Aside from the nervous habit, and all things considered, he looked great. His suit had been freshly pressed, his shirt collar properly starched. Instead of a cloth tie, he wore a bolo made of silver and turquoise with leather strings capped in silver. And his cowboy boots shined.

“I’m having trouble breathing.”

“You’re okay.” She laid a hand on his sleeve and he gripped her arm.

“Stay with me?”

“Sure.”

Lark walked beside him to a small love seat placed sideways behind the pulpit. From there she could see Gertie, Rachel, Dorothy, and Cecilia occupying the first row on the right. Behind them sat Harry, Eric, and the Hendersons. Paul Owens sat on the left, and he was there alone.

Why hadn’t Katherine come? Did she suspect that there was more to Paul and Esther’s relationship than friendship? Lark glanced sideways at Vic. Had he suspected, too? If so, he hadn’t given any indications.

And there was no sign of Jan Halloway.

The service was short and simple. Several people stood and spoke, telling stories about birding with Esther. Lark didn’t know what to say and so declined the opportunity. Instead, she helped cut and serve cake, pour coffee, and clear plates, until the last of the mourners headed home. She tried to catch Bernie, but he slipped away before she could stop him.

“Whew,” Gertie said.

“I think our opening went well, don’t you?” Cecilia asked.

“Opening?” Gertie slapped a lid on one of the coffee bins. “I’m not sure that’s how I would have phrased it. More like ‘our giveaway.’”

“I think it came off fine,” Rachel said, scooping up a handful of glasses.

“I’m going to check the deck for glasses and stuff,” Lark said. She slipped out the front door and walked to the end of the building, leaning against the railing.

“Nice out here, isn’t it?” Paul Owens’voice came from behind her, causing Lark to jump. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I didn’t see you out here.” Lark tugged at the hem of her T-shirt. “Do you always sit around alone?”

“No.” But he remained in the shadows, his face shrouded. She wished she could read his expression. Throughout the memorial service he’d maintained a stony expression, showing no emotion whatsoever. Based on the letter she’d found, he had to be hurting inside.

“I actually stuck around hoping to have a chance to talk with you for a minute.”

“Oh?”

“According to Esther’s attorney, you and I are business partners now.”

Lark didn’t mention she’d talked to Arquette as well. Instead, she played dumb. “I thought you said the Migration Alliance was the beneficiary.”

“I did. I was wrong.”

“When did you find that out?”

“Police Chief Crandall called me this morning and asked how I knew about the money. It seems someone had pointed out that Esther’s lawyer had talked to me before I gave my speech the other night. They thought it odd I didn’t know the true terms of the will. I did some checking this morning, and, apparently, I misunderstood Mr. Arquette.”

Lark leaned back against the railing. Owens’motive for murder wasn’t as strong if he hadn’t known that he was inheriting the money. Was he smart enough to have figured that out?

“How did you know Esther, anyway?” Lark knew it was a leading question and felt guilty for asking. But not that guilty.

“We were old friends,” he replied, his voice even. “I met her in Mexico a few years ago when we were both down there working.” He glanced at his watch and stood. “Speaking of work, I have a dinner engagement to go to.”

“Yeah? Well, have fun.”

He started to walk away, then turned at the steps. “Katherine and I are hosting a small party tomorrow night up at the Black Canyon Ranch. Jan Halloway from Jitters Coffee Company will be there, along with Norberto Rincon and Buzz Aldefer. We could use a third woman. How about joining us?”

“It’s awfully short notice.”

“True, but we’re partners now, and it might be an opportunity to get some insider information on the coffee industry.”

Lark knew she ought to say no. She was helping lead the all-day volunteer’s hike tomorrow, the one that Owens and the others were scheduled to attend, and there was still some planning to do. Plus, she’d been dodging Norberto.

On the other hand, they were partners. And she admired Jan Halloway. Ever since reading about her in
Fortune
magazine, Lark knew she wanted to grow up to be just like her: smart, attractive, and CEO of a top company before the age of forty.

“I promise, it won’t be a late night,” cajoled Paul. “Besides, it will give us
partners
a chance to get better acquainted.”

Yes? No?
“Sure, I’ll go.”

Lark agreed to meet Paul Owens and his party at the Black Canyon Ranch at five-thirty for drinks. After a cursory sweep of the porch for glasses, plates, and disposable trash, she dashed up the hill to the carriage house to change for dinner.

After a quick shower and blow dry, she braided her hair, then added a touch of mascara. Pulling on a straight black skirt and a sleeveless, Western-cut blouse with large silver buttons and a standing collar, she added a pair of black flats, two wide, silver bracelets, then studied the effect in the mirror.

Should she wear a pair of nylons, the bane of feminine society? Her legs were tan. Tan enough for dining by candlelight.

Jouncing up Black Canyon Ranch Road, she wrestled with her doubts, letting them get the best of her as she reached the top of the road.

She should have worn a nicer dress.

She should have worn her hair down.

She should have put on nylons.

What was she doing coming up here in the first place? She hardly knew these people.

She had met Paul and Katherine Saunders once before and read a few articles about Jan Halloway. That hardly classified her a member of the A team. She would turn around at the top, call the ranch, and beg off.

Lark crested the hill and made a slow loop through the parking lot, but, before she could drive away, Paul Owens hollered from the porch. “Hello the truck.”

Lark slumped in her seat, then turned the truck back around and jockeyed it into a vacant spot.

“I couldn’t figure out what you were doing,” he said, yanking open her door. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to leave.”

Lark stuffed the keys in her skirt pocket. “No way,” she lied. “I was just looking for a good place to park.”

“This way then.” Pulling her arm through his, he escorted her up the stairs, through the foyer, and into the bar. Inside, the lights shone brightly, reflecting off the waxed hardwood floor. She definitely should have worn hose.

“I want you to meet everybody. I believe you’ve met my partner, Katherine. Jan Halloway.”

Lark smiled and offered her hand. Katherine returned the honor, shaking hands like a dead fish. Her wrist stayed limp, her hand heavy and clammy with sweat. Jan Halloway, on the other hand, pumped back with a firm grip.

“Señor Norberto Rincon,” Owens continued, “and Buzz Aldefer.”

Decked out in a designer suit and Gucci loafers, Norberto nodded over his hand. Up to now, she had successfully avoided him after Molly had spotted the three-toed woodpecker. Lark was not willing to give away Teresa’s whereabouts. Not that she could. Teresa had never returned to the Manor House. Lark wondered if he would try to approach her again at dinner.

Buzz stood but didn’t bother to shake.

“Join us,” Katherine said, patting a seat beside her. “What would you like to drink?” She signaled for the bartender, and Mike Johnson approached.

Mike owned the Black Canyon Ranch, and he and Lark went way back. They’d been what Cecilia deemed “an item” before he dumped her for his present wife, Cindy.

Lark took quiet satisfaction in the way his eyes traveled the length of her legs.

“Nice to see you,” he said.

“Thanks.” She crossed her legs. “I’ll take a Pepsi.”

“Is that all you’re going to have?” Jan asked. “I thought this was a party, Paul.”

A hot flush crept up Lark’s face, and she fumbled for a recovery. “I’m leading the birding trip tomorrow, so…”

“Still into that?” Mike asked. It sounded more rhetorical than anything.

“Yeah.”

When he had headed back to the bar, Jan twisted in her seat to face Lark. “I hear you and Paul are business partners.”

Katherine’s eyes narrowed.

A sore subject? Why, because of the business or because of Esther’s relationship with Paul?

“That’s true,” Lark said, forcing her mind back to the conversation. “And it’s going to be more of a challenge than I thought. I spent all of yesterday poring over the records, and some of the numbers still don’t make sense.”

“Oh? In what way?” Jan asked.

“Are you offering to help the competition, Jan?” drawled Buzz, “or just on the looky-loo for vulnerabilities?”

Jan’s face tightened. “I was trying to be generous.”

Lark decided it was time to put up her guard. “Actually, I only found one ledger where the numbers were confusing, so I brought the darn thing home. Late-night reading. I’m sure it will all fall in place soon. It’s just, at the moment,
I
don’t know anything about running a coffee company.”

“For what it’s worth,” confided Jan, leaning forward, her blond hair falling across her face, “neither does Paul.”

Had Lark been a man, the view down the front of her dress would have been cause for embarrassment. She noticed both Norberto and Paul leaned in for a closer look.

Katherine pushed back her chair. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Paul and Norberto stood. Buzz followed her into the foyer.

“Paul’s been asking me for pointers,” Jan said, never missing a beat.

“She’s full of great ideas.”

“That’s because it’s my business.” Jan straightened up and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Though, I suppose, if I were smarter, I wouldn’t be offering to help the competition.”

Lark laughed. “You’re not serious.”

Jan looked taken aback.