A Bobwhite Killing (15 page)

“It was the name of the chief lobbyist—Mac Ackerman. Now, thanks to my students, every time I think of the controversy about the eco-communities, I think ‘Aflac.’”

I stared at Alan. “Come again?”

“Mac Ackerman is the name of the guy leading the charge against the eco-communities.” He glanced my way for a second. “What? You know the name?”

“Well, yeah,” I replied. “He’s one of the birders on this trip.”

“Really? I don’t think I would have pegged him for a bird lover judging from the comments he made in the press about the eco-communities. He was all about giving land to people to enjoy from the back of their ATVs and let the natural flora and fauna find somewhere else to … be flora and fauna.”

“He also knows a lot about cars,” I added. “In fact, he knew right away what had happened to my car when my brakes failed this morning. He was even right behind me on the road.”

“No kidding?” Alan asked, then grew ominously quiet. “Are you saying he was involved in sabotaging your car?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He was sure Johnny-on-the-spot. To be honest with you, I was already thinking he might have been behind it when I thought he was just another ATV fan, but now, knowing he’s the head hauncho lobbyist, it really makes me wonder.”

“Bob,” Alan reminded me, “why would Mac Ackerman target you? You’re not a player in the eco-communities.”

“No, but remember that boundary thing I was talking about earlier? Maybe I’ve crossed some line in his head that makes me his enemy. Maybe he killed Jack to remove the opposition, and maybe he thinks I share Jack’s mission to build the communities because I’m Shana’s friend. Maybe he thinks he’ll knock off all the conservation advocates in the state one at a time. I don’t know!”

“Have you mentioned to anyone down here what your connection is to the eco-communities?”

“No!” I said, exasperated. “That’s because I don’t have any connection to the eco-communities! The only reason I’m involved with this mess this weekend is that I found Jack’s body instead of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo, and I’m trying to be a friend to Shana in her hour of need.”

“And you haven’t given anyone a reason to think you’re involved in the investigation of Jack’s death?”

“No!”

Then I thought about it for a minute.

“Well, maybe,” I corrected myself.

Alan spun his right hand in a circle. “Go on.”

“I called the sheriff last night to tell her that Jack had recently ended a financial relationship with the mayor,” I admitted, “and that she might want to check into it.”

Alan turned onto the entrance road to Green Hills youth camp.

“So you told the sheriff to check out the mayor?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

“I don’t suppose you realize that sheriffs and mayors typically work pretty closely together in small towns?”

I shook my head. I was beginning to feel pretty stupid. “Never thought about it, no.”

“You know what I think?” Alan asked as he pulled into an empty parking area near the camp headquarters. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the sheriff, who has probably known the mayor a long time, went straight to him with your information. And I would guess, then, that the same mayor wasn’t overly pleased to learn that the sheriff now was also privy to that information.”

I stared out the windshield. “No, I would guess not.”

But even as I mentally slapped myself for calling Sheriff Paulsen, another tumbler in my head clicked into place.

“That’s how Chuck knew that Shana had the books audited!” I turned in my seat to face Alan. “Back at the hotel, Tom said that Chuck had accused Shana of having the books audited behind Jack’s back. So Chuck knew someone had been through the books and caught him. I couldn’t figure out how he’d found out so fast, since Stan just called me last night with the information for Shana. So Chuck must have heard it from Big Ben, after he heard it from the sheriff.”

Alan nodded along with my reasoning. “Sounds possible. But how do you connect Mac Ack to it?”

Good question. Before I’d figured out the leak from Sheriff Paulsen to Big Ben, I’d just about convinced myself that Mac had ruined my brakes for some crazy reason having to do with the eco-communities. He did, after all, have a whole box of tools in the parking lot last night, and he knew right away what had happened when I’d spun out with Bernie. Now I wondered if Chuck was to blame. Could he have made a late night visit to the Inn & Suites to cut my brake line as payback for ratting out his buddy the mayor to the sheriff? I’d seen the possibility of a soured financial arrangement as a motive for murder, so I had to assume that the sheriff would see it that way, too. That was the reason I had called her last night—to make sure she didn’t overlook the mayor as a suspect for Jack’s murder.

Then again, maybe Chuck had a more personal reason to get rid of me. For all I knew, my phone call to the sheriff inadvertently opened a can of worms that may have begun with Jack and Ben’s failed financial relationship, but actually bode much worse for the OK heir. Which begged the question: exactly what was Chuck’s financial arrangement with Ben?

“Let’s look for a bird,” I told Alan, pushing my car door open. “I need some air.”

Alan got out on his side of the Camry and looked towards the woods that spread out beyond the covered wagon at the base of the hill.

The covered wagon where I’d found Jack, just over twenty-four hours ago.

“Don’t I need binoculars or something like that?” Alan asked.

I handed him the pair that was hanging around my neck. “Use mine. I’ll bird by ear.”

“Hey, isn’t this the place where you found Jack O’Keefe yesterday? I saw the news last night with Lily, you know. I recognize the covered wagon.”

I nodded.

“Okay, White-man. Lead the way. Just go light on the bodies. It’s bad enough that you found one here, but if you find two, and I’m a part of the posse, my blushing bride-to-be will kill us both. I’m supposed to be pulling you out of this mess, not making it worse.”

Worse? How could it get worse than it already was? I now had two good candidates for trying to put me into an ambulance, a handwritten death threat that I still couldn’t account for, a very probable assault and battery charge looming in the very near future, a mayor who most likely wanted me out of the county for the rest of my natural life, and so far, not even a hint for finding a Northern Bobwhite.

Beside me, Alan thrashed through some bushes, scattering every bird within a half-mile.

Oh yeah, it could get worse.

I could have Alan birding with me.

I stifled a groan and headed off for the trees.

Are you sure that Pewee bird is around here?” Alan asked, dropping onto a boulder to sit near the edge of a stream.

“It’s here,” I said. “This is exactly the habitat it likes—plenty of deciduous and mixed woods. And there’s ample food source with all the little flies and gnats around here. I bet if we just sit here quietly for a few minutes, I’ll hear it calling.”

“Whatever you say, Bob. I’m just along for the ride. No, make that I’m along as the driver. You think they can fix your car first thing in the morning?”

“Yes,” I whispered, giving him a pointed look.

He pulled off his felt cowboy hat and ran his hand through his hair. “Oh, right,” he whispered back, loudly. “Time to be quiet.”

I paced a few steps away from Alan and studied the branches overhead. High above me, I could make out a little movement as a small bird walked along a limb. Its underparts were a plain buffy color, and when it tilted its head, I could just make out a dark eye stripe.

I soundlessly reached my hand back towards Alan and hissed, “Binoculars!” while keeping my eye on the bird. Alan placed the binos in my hand and I brought them up to my eyes.

The bird’s head was unmistakably striped with tan and black feathers, and its bill was too slender for a sparrow.

“A Worm-eating Warbler,” I whispered in awe. I motioned to Alan to join me quietly and a moment later, I pointed out the bird to him. He looked through the binos and grunted.

“I know you don’t appreciate what you’re seeing, Alan,” I excused him. “But that’s a rare bird in your sights. I know a lot of birders who would give their right arm to see that bird here in Minnesota.”

“Many are called, but few are chosen, huh?”

I could feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Yeah, something like that, I guess.”

“You should call Luce,” Alan suggested, returning the binos to me.

I put the glasses back up to my eyes and watched the warbler hop along the branch. “She’d be thrilled to see it, for sure,” I said, “but I can’t guarantee we could spot it again by the time she got here.”

“Bob,” Alan said. “I’m not talking about the bird, I’m talking about Luce. You should call her. Lily’s afraid she might have seen that television clip of you with Shana last night and jumped to the wrong conclusion. The reporters were sure making innuendos about you and the Widow O’Keefe.”

I moved the binos away from my eyes and turned to my best friend. “Come on, Alan. You know how I feel about Luce. So does she. I can’t imagine she’s going to be upset by a television spot. She knows me better than that.”

“That’s what I told Lily, but she’s still worried. She really likes Luce. They’re pretty tight friends, you know.”

I knew. I wasn’t always happy about it, but I was well aware that my sister and my girlfriend were confidantes. So far, they hadn’t ganged up on me too much. Of course, once Alan married my sister, I would definitely have the odds stacked against me for winning any argument with Lily.

“You know, Alan, I’ve been wanting to ask you—are you really sure about marrying Lily? I mean,” I explained, spreading my hands out to include the forest, “we’re out here all alone, and I’m your best friend, so you can tell me the truth. Don’t you think you’re rushing into this marriage just a little bit? I mean, you just started dating last month. Three weeks later, you’re getting measured for a tux.”

Alan pulled his hat off his head and slapped it against his thigh. Then he looked me right in the eye and said, “Not at all. I wish I’d married her the very first time I laid eyes on her when I came home with you from college that first midterm break we had. What was that, sixteen years ago now? Of course, I was young and stupid then, and she wouldn’t give me the time of day, but I wish I’d had all those years between then and now with her. I’m just grateful we’re getting married as soon as we are. If she hadn’t wanted the big wedding event, we’d already be married. A justice of the peace would’ve worked just fine for me.”

For a minute, I didn’t say a word. I actually felt a lump in my throat listening to Alan’s declaration of love for Lily. I guess I’d wanted him to express some hesitations or doubts—maybe the same hesitations and doubts I felt when I thought about proposing to Luce. I mean, I loved Luce, and I wanted to marry her, but the actual proposing part continued to escape me.

“Okay,” I finally said to Alan, my voice sounding pretty normal again, “good to know.”

“Jump in, White-man,” Alan said, grinning. “The water’s great.”

“You hope so,” I said.

“I know so,” he replied.

“Tell you what, Hawk,” I bargained. “Since you’re willing to bird with me today, I’m willing to give engagement a try. You find that Pewee and I’ll offer Luce a ring.”

Alan laughed, and the Worm-eating Warbler took off through the trees. “Well, that’s a safe bet for you, I’d say. Poor Luce—she’s going to be an old woman before she gets to say her ‘I do.’”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” I said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years of birding, it’s that the unexpected can unexpectedly happen.”

My cell phone rang in my pocket.

“Just like that,” I said, pulling the phone out and flipping it open.

“Ben’s payments from Chuck,” Stan’s voice said in my ear. “They were funneled. In and out of Ben’s account. Destination: ATV lobbyists.”

“So Chuck was funding the opposition to his father’s project,” I concluded. “Not very conducive to happy family dinners, I’d say.”

“There’s more,” Stan added. “Ben’s got an account. Off-shore. Very tidy sum. I’m still tracking it.”

“Should I tell Shana?”

“Your choice. I’m calling in help.”

“Stan—don’t hang up.”

For a split-second, I debated sharing my find with him, but I couldn’t resist. Locating an uncommon bird is always a thrill, but telling my rival I’d scored one on him was just too much to pass up. Besides, for everything he was doing to help Shana untangle the mess she’d landed in, I figured giving him the heads-up for his own bird chase was a small way to thank him. “I just found a Worm-eating Warbler. Here at Green Hills.”

There was a moment of silence on the phone.

“I’m on my way.”

Another silence.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, but he had already cut the connection.

Alan tucked his hat back on his head and gave me a questioning look.

“I thought Scary Stan was your longtime birding rival,” he said.

I stuffed the phone back into my pocket and adjusted the bino strap around my neck. “He is. But I wanted to thank him for helping Shana, and I couldn’t think of a better way than to tell him where he can find a rare bird.”

“Worm-catching warblers aren’t usually around here?”

“Worm-
eating
Warblers, Alan, and no,” I said, leading the way back along the trail. “They’re not normally here. A few years ago, someone supposedly saw one in Mystery Cave State Park, but it was never substantiated. From what I heard yesterday at the police station from a couple of deputies, Fillmore County saw more traffic that summer than it usually does in two whole years, thanks to all the birders showing up. I guess the sheriff got a first-hand education about all the hidden birding hotspots—the deputies said their revenue from traffic violations set a record that year.”

Alan laughed again, sending more birds scattering.

“So, did you get enough air, Bob?” he asked as we walked through the old woods. “Did the birding clear out the cobwebs in that cluttered head of yours?”