Sacrifice of Buntings (11 page)

Proving Rachel correct, Dorothy charged on. “Think of all the things Guy Saxby’s done in his career.” She waved the release forms in the air. “He can talk about anything bird-related. Does he sound like somebody who had to steal someone else’s research to publish?”

When neither of them answered, she answered for them. “No. Becker was jealous, that’s all.”

“Maybe,” Rachel said.

“Oh my, she has love blinders on.”

Dorothy faltered. “It doesn’t matter. Guy has promised that we’ll be on camera tomorrow. We are going to win that money for Raptor House. You’ll see that you’re wrong about him. He is going to prove his mettle.” She handed Rachel two releases. “Here’s one for you and one for Lark. Now we should all get to bed so we can be extra sharp tomorrow.”

Cecilia scoffed. “Or so somebody can get her much-needed beauty sleep.”

Rachel didn’t. She tried
to sleep, but she tossed and turned and then finally got up. The clock dial read eleven p.m. They had to be up in six hours.

Lark snored softly in the next bed, so Rachel pulled on her shorts in a beam of moonlight and then headed downstairs in search of hot chocolate. A small coffee bar had been tucked into a corner for guests, and Rachel helped herself to a packet of Swiss Miss. Three carafes labeled “decaf,” “coffee,” and “water” sat next to the tray of mugs. Dumping the chocolate into the mug, she pushed the pump on the water, and the carafe sputtered. She pushed again, and it spit a burble of water before it finally gave up.

Darn
.

There was no clerk at the desk, so Rachel picked up the carafe and ducked her head into the bar. There was no bartender either. Who needed staff with all the birders in bed?

The dining room was closed, but yellow light leaked out from beneath the swinging doors into the kitchen. Maybe she could find someone in there.

Pushing open the swinging door, she stepped into a large room with metal counters and racks. A dishwasher crammed full of dinner dishes churned in the corner, its water spray visible. A woman’s voice screeched from deeper inside.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Rachel stopped in mid-stride. It sounded like Patricia Anderson. Was she talking to her?

Rachel’s free hand flew to her chest, and she peered around the corner of the nearest dish rack. Patricia stood sideways, center aisle, her hands on her hips. A snarl marred her lips. “You are seventeen years old.”

I’m in the clear
. Rachel leaned farther around the dish rack. Katie Anderson stood facing her mother. Her black hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and she wore a thin, low-cut tank top which pushed out in a small bump over her low-rise jeans. Her hands flew to her face, and she rubbed one of her eyes.

The little-girl gesture in a woman’s body touched Rachel’s heart. There was something about the way the girl acted that reminded Rachel of herself not so long ago. There had been times, during her divorce, that she had felt so vulnerable she had wanted to curl up in the fetal position and die. Watching Katie, Rachel sensed the same despair.

“How could you be so stupid?”

Tears spilled over and tumbled down Katie’s face. She snatched up a tissue and blotted her eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

“Wait until your father gets back from Brunswick and I tell him what you’ve been up to. What could you possibly think you’d achieve by visiting Sonja Becker? How could you possibly think she would welcome you and your bastard child with open arms?”

Katie was pregnant? With Paul Becker’s child? Sonja Becker said her husband cheated and that he liked them young.

“This baby is entitled to a decent upbringing. I expected she might help us. It was worth a try. It’s better than I can expect from you.”

“Why you little…” Patricia raised her hand as though to strike Katie, and then changed her mind, balling her hand into a fist by her side. “Your daddy and I plan to see this child placed in a loving home. In the meantime, you better pray this land trade goes through so we have the money to pay for it.”

Did that mean the developer had backed out?

“I’m not giving up my baby.” Katie, the young woman-child, stood her ground. “That’s why I went to see Mrs. Becker. I figured she might understand.”

The theme song from
The Graduate
started playing in Rachel’s head.

Katie’s voice rose in timbre. “You and Daddy can’t tell me what to do with my baby.” Her hand gently stroked her belly. “Now get out of my way. I’m leaving.”

With that, Katie pushed past her mother and headed in Rachel’s direction. Rachel drew back against the dish rack. If she tried to leave, Katie would see her. If she stepped into the open, it would be obvious she was eavesdropping. Where could she hide?

“Katie Jo Anderson, you get back here,” ordered Patricia.

Rachel heard Katie stop. Had she turned back around? If that was the case, Patricia would be the one facing the door.

Patricia’s voice edged toward hysterical. “You do understand that we’re ruined if the land trade doesn’t go through.”

“That has nothing to do with me. I’m not the one who overextended myself buying this stupid hotel.”

She heard Patricia draw a ragged breath.

“Katie Jo, we need your help,” she said, her voice softened. “Did Sonja Becker admit there was a film?”

Rachel felt her stomach twist. Did this woman have no scruples? Was she going to use her pregnant daughter to try and get her hands on the film?

“Yeah.” Katie sounded petulant. Rachel could see her stance through the dish rack, her arms crossed tightly across the tip of her abdomen, one knee cocked.

“Daddy and I need it, honey. That’s the only proof that the bird exists. If that film is made public, the developer will back out, and the state can force us to protect the swampland. There will be no reason for them to trade acreages. We’ll be ruined.”

Katie didn’t respond.

Rachel listened carefully for footsteps.

“Katie Jo, did Sonja tell you where it was?”

“You disgust me, Mother. All you’ve ever cared about is money and status.”

“Please, Katie Jo.”

“She told me to ask Chuck Knapp. He’s the one who shot the footage.”

Realizing their conversation was coming to an end, Rachel took the cue. Kicking the door open, she swung the empty carafe and acted like she was just walking in. “I thought I heard voices.”

Patricia’s face hardened into a smile. Katie looked down at the ground and then brushed past Rachel and disappeared through the swinging doors.

Rachel held up the carafe. “You’re out of water.”

Drinking hot chocolate on the screened-in porch, Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. Thank heavens neither of them had questioned her entrance. Patricia had filled the carafe and then excused herself to do some work in her office. Katie was gone, and the desk clerk was back with a friendly smile.

Now, listening to the sounds of the cicadas and to the surf gently pounding the sand, Rachel tried to relax. A small noise startled her, and she couldn’t shake the impression that someone watched her from the shadows of the magnolia trees. Her mind flashed to the golf course, and then conjured an image of Trula, the voodoo lady.
Oona mus tek cyear
.

Rachel shivered and pushed out of the chair. Setting the cup on the service table, she nodded to the desk clerk and climbed the stairs to her room. The old floorboards creaked underneath the carpet, and she imagined old Harry frowning down from his portrait.

Opening her hotel room door, she knocked a piece of paper along the floor. Bending down, she picked it up. Large black letters in block print stared back at her:

QUIT SNOOPING OR DIE.

Rachel froze in place. Her whole body tingled. Whipping around, she searched the landing for a sign of anyone in the hallway or on the stairs. Stepping into her room, she slammed the door, turned the deadbolt, and drew the chain.

Lark sat bolt upright in bed. “Rachel? What’s wrong?”

Rachel flipped on the light.

Lark blinked in bed like a great horned owl. Rachel thrust the note into her hand. Lark blanched.

“Where did you get this?”

“I found it on the floor. Someone must have shoved it under the door.” She told Lark about her trip downstairs for hot chocolate, the conversation she’d overheard, and about feeling someone watching her.

“We need to call the police,” Lark said.

Rachel agreed.

Detective Stone arrived within twenty minutes. By then Dorothy and Cecilia were up as well, disturbed by the urgent whispering of the occupants of their adjoining suite.

“Tell me again,” the detective said.

This time she gladly repeated her story. The detective sat rigid in the chair by the window, while his partner leaned against the doorjamb scribbling notes. The detective held the now-sheathed warning by a corner.

“We have a suspect list if you want it,” Dorothy said.

Detective Stone rolled his eyes. “Sure, give it to my partner. Meanwhile, I’ll check this paper for fingerprints.” He didn’t sound optimistic. “Only the two of you touched it?”

Cecilia raised her hand. “I might have touched it too, Detective.”

“That figures.” He stood up shaking his head. “Ms. Wilder, Ms. Drummond, and you.” He pointed two fingers and included both sisters. “I want you all to steer clear of my investigation from here on out. No more developing suspect lists, no more eavesdropping.
Do you understand?
” He shook his head. “It nearly got you killed this afternoon. Let me and my men handle these matters. Is that understood?”

“Got it,” Rachel said.

Lark and Cecilia nodded.

Dorothy just narrowed her eyes.

The alarm went off a few hours later. The women grabbed coffee and bagels on the way out the door, and the four of them made the bus with time to spare. Rachel was a bit surprised that it wasn’t the colorful Okefenokee Swamp Tours bus they’d ridden on before.

“There’s been a change,” was all Saxby offered.

The ride took an hour. Dorothy sat smugly beside Saxby the entire way. Cecilia sat two seats behind, craning her neck around camera equipment to keep an eye on her sister. Rachel and Lark sat on the other side of the bus and enjoyed an excellent view of Saxby showing Dorothy points of interest.

“I admit it,” Lark said. “I don’t see what she sees in him. To me, he seems kind of smitten with himself. What in the heck do you suppose is going on?”

“Chemistry,” Rachel said.

“I disagree. I think he’s using her.”

“For what?” There certainly wasn’t anything physical going on between them unless she was drugging Cecilia to sneak out at night. For that matter, Cecilia might be a heavy sleeper. Saxby’s room
was
right above them.

The thought chilled her. Then another thought crept in behind it.
Could he have been the one who slipped me the note?

“Besides, what does it matter?” Rachel asked. “She’s enjoying the attention, and she has lots of keepers.” Rachel gestured at Cecilia. “She seems happy. What harm can there be in a mild flirtation? The three of you are headed back to Colorado in a couple of days, and that will be the end of it.”

Lark looked skeptical. “Did you see the way she forced me to sign that release? Not only are we going to humiliate ourselves on national television, we consented to it.”

“If the pilot doesn’t work for the network, maybe he can sell it to
America’s Funniest Home Videos
.”

“Don’t even joke, Rae.” Moments later, Lark’s head turned. “Did you see that sign? “Don’t Feed the Alligators.” Who on earth would stop and feed the alligators?”

“I don’t know. They have those signs on ski lifts too. “Don’t Jump off the Ski Lift.” Same thing. Who in their right mind would jump?”

“I guess some people think alligators are cute,” conceded Lark.

“Well I think bears are cute,” Rachel said, “but that doesn’t mean I’d want to be one’s lunch.”

The driver braked suddenly, and Lark grabbed the back of the seat. “What’s going on?”

Rachel thought of an alligator crossing.

The bus slowed, pulled into a makeshift parking area behind another bus, and both vehicles sat there spewing fumes.

“We don’t seem to be there yet,” Lark observed.

Rachel noticed that on the other side of the bus, the cameraman sitting near Cecilia had started filming out the window. “I think the view is on the other side.”

Both of them moved forward and squeezed into the seat next to Cecilia. Through the window, they saw a line of protesters blocking the road.

“There’s Fancy Carter with her pet alligator,” Lark said. “Rhinestones and all.”

“You’re kidding.” Rachel craned to see.

“Yes,” Lark said. “About the alligator.”

Rachel had to agree, Fancy did look like the sort of person who would have a pet alligator, and she glittered on the front line, flanked by both of her sons. No wonder they had taken a different bus this morning.

“There’s Nevin Anderson,” Lark said. “I wonder what the heck is going on?”

Rachel waited for Lark to make some sharp observation about him too, but it didn’t come.

“Liam Kelly’s here,” Rachel said, standing up to get a look at Dorothy and Guy. Saxby didn’t look happy, but Dorothy did. Rachel flashed Dorothy a signal, and she gave Rachel a thumbs-up.

“What’s happening?” mouthed Rachel.

Dorothy shrugged.

Saxby turned to the bus driver. A minute later the door opened, and the two men strode across the road to the protestors. Rachel followed them off the bus.

“Get back in your rig,” said Dwayne Carter. He noticed Rachel, smiled, and winked. “You can stay.”

Guy Saxby glanced over his shoulder and glared. “Get back in the bus, Rachel.”

“I want to know what’s going on just as much as you do. This is our field trip.”

Saxby turned back to the crowd. “I insist you move out of the way.”

Lark appeared at Rachel’s shoulder. “Do you think this is staged? Our first obstacle—get past the swamp people.”

Now there’s an idea
, thought Rachel, except Saxby didn’t seem to be taking this in stride.

“The cameras
are
rolling,” she said.

“This is our land, Saxby,” said Fancy. “If you want access to the Okefenokee, you can make it down the road.”

“You know this is the only quick access to Swamper’s Island. The only other way is by boat.”

“And you still need permission to land,” said Nevin Anderson, stepping forward. “I don’t remember agreeing to let you on my island.”

Rachel wondered if Fancy would allow Nevin Anderson access. She controlled the gateway, and as long as all deals were on the table, she was sitting pretty. What happened if all deals were off?

“There’s a right-of-way easement into the swamp,” Saxby said. “You have to let us through.”

By now the bus had emptied, and the two camps faced off. Actually, three camps. Rachel noticed that Liam Kelly and his protestors seemed to have their own agenda. The group carried signs that read “stop the land trade,” “stop all development,” and “let the swamp go wild.”