Cornflowers and Corpses Read online

  Barbara clucked her tongue. "I've seen Kingston scare off more than one customer from the bakery tables. He is very brazen for a bird. Most people aren't used to crows getting so close."

  Amelia and I exchanged secret eye rolls. Barbara was expert at squashing amusing situations, a real party pooper as Lola would say. On top of it, she made me worry that she was right. I didn't want Kingston scaring off customers.

  "King's been out and about long enough. He'll be cranky for the rest of the day if he's out too long. I think I'll call him back to the shop." Naturally, I didn't want to reinforce Barbara's unwanted opinion, so I made up an excuse to coax him back. "I'll be right back."

  I stepped into the warm sunshine and walked over to Les's shop. Kingston was standing on the table waiting politely for the customer to hand feed him a pinch of croissant.

  "I'm so sorry," I said before noticing that Kingston's new friend was none other than John Jacobs, Mason's friend and fellow bird watcher. It explained John's instant comfort with a large black crow pushing himself into his morning coffee break. "Hello," I said.

  Knowing full well he was doing something bad, Kingston immediately jumped down off the table.

  "Hello," John said. "What a nice coincidence."

  "Thank you but it wasn't such a coincidence." I pointed next door. "My shop assistant told me my bird was pestering a man for a croissant, so I came out to scold him. The bird, not the man," I said quickly.

  John laughed. "He's marvelous. So he's your pet?"

  "Yes, he was injured so I took him in. Then he refused to leave, decided he preferred croissants and hard boiled eggs to the fare nature had to offer. I'm actually glad he was pestering you, instead of someone not quite so comfortable around birds."

  "Me too. Made for a more entertaining coffee break. In fact, any break from this week's activities is welcome." He said the last with a long, tired breath.

  "I suppose it hasn't been a very successful convention. I heard about the second fatality."

  John pushed the croissant away as if he'd had enough. "Yes, the stolen treasury money on the first night should have been our clue that things were only going to go downhill."

  "Stolen treasury money?" I asked.

  "Yes, the first night of the convention between ticket sales, new memberships and the amazing cookies from the bakery two doors down, the club had collected over three thousand dollars. It was going to be used toward our next world excursion. It's a weeklong trip to an exotic location, Borneo this year. We meet up with other bird watching groups. We all look very forward to it. Someone made off with twenty-three hundred dollars. I don't like to put the blame on anyone, but Minnie always insists on using her primitive, old-fashioned system of collecting money in a metal box. We also accept credit cards so about three hundred was collected digitally, but the box was nearly empty. Not that it matters now. I don't think any of us are in a mood for a new excursion. This unfortunate week will set us all back emotionally and enthusiastically."

  Kingston, deciding he hated not being the center of attention, hopped up on my shoulder. John nearly slipped off the stool with surprise. A wide grin followed the wide eyes. "You've got him so well trained."

  I reached up and rubbed Kingston's chest. "More like the other way around." My new possible theory about the stolen camera and Mason's rare and significant photo had been stirring around my head all night. Now it seemed I had an opportunity to advance my wild idea. "Mr. Jacobs," I started.

  "John, please. Any person with an amazing pet crow is an instant friend in my book."

  I smiled up at Kingston. "Thank you. That's nice to hear. I was wondering, that day—" I said, and by the expression on his face I knew I didn't need to clarify. "You mentioned that Mason boasted about a photo that was both rare and would have significant consequences. Do you have any idea at all what might have been on his camera?"

  He cupped his fingers around the coffee cup as he stared down in thought. "I wish I knew. I assumed he happened upon a rare bird, but you never knew with Mason. He was always up to his antics." John looked up at me. "Frankly, he took far too much pleasure in causing misery to others. Bad childhood or something. There used to be this nice couple, Bonnie and Joseph, they were prominent members of the society. Joseph was an ornithologist and professor and Bonnie was an artist. She used to paint the most beautiful nature landscapes. Everyone looked up to them. Mason hated the adulation we gave them. Then, one day, he stumbled upon Joseph deep in a copse of trees." John's face reddened. "He was with one of the younger, female members of the club." His gaze dropped again. "I'm sure I don't have to add details for you to know what they were up to."

  "No, I get the picture."

  "Yes, so did Mason," John said wryly.

  Kingston bored of my shoulder and flew off to a nearby tree. It took John's attention away for a moment, then he turned back to me.

  "He showed Joseph the photo. Naturally, Joseph was beside himself. I only knew because Joseph came to me for help. He wanted me to talk some sense into Mason, but Mason was as hard headed as he was coldhearted."

  "Did he try and extort money out of Joseph?" I asked. "Did he use it for blackmail purposes?"

  John shook his head. "I don't think money was involved, but Joseph and Bonnie abruptly quit the society and we never heard from them again."

  "So Mason used the photo to get rid of them? He didn't like having them in the club?"

  "That would be my guess. Mason never told me for certain." John stood from the table and picked up his cup.

  "I won't keep you anymore," I said.

  "I enjoyed talking to your bird. Kingston, right?"

  "Yes, after his favorite band the Kingston Trio."

  John laughed. "A cool name for a cool bird. I hope Detective Briggs catches the killer soon. We're all anxious for this terrible episode to be over."

  I nodded. "I think it will be very soon." I whistled and Kingston flew down from his perch and trotted in front of me back to the shop.

  Chapter 33

  My chat with John had made my head spin with the possibility that the mysterious, now erased photo had to do with blackmail or proof of someone doing something wrong or compromising. After all, why would the camera's memory be erased unless there was something on it the killer didn't want seen? A rare bird photo just wouldn't be good motive to delete pictures from a camera. It didn't make any sense. I was thoroughly convinced that Mason was trying to harm someone through blackmail. It was apparently not beyond Mason's character to torture a fellow bird watcher. I just needed to find out what he had caught on his camera that would cause someone to snap. The new theory pretty much took Nora off the list. Her shame and embarrassment had been done in person, live, in front of all her peers. There just couldn't have been anything else on Mason's camera to add to that misery.

  I'd cleverly planned for Barbara to deliver flowers while I was out on my lunch break. I told Amelia it would be a long break because I was driving over to Mayfield. She had no problem with that as long as Barbara was out and about and not standing behind her pestering her about the voice she used while answering the phone or that her penmanship on the flower orders was too sloppy to read.

  I reached the parking lot of the Mayfield Auditorium. There were far less cars than the first night when Elsie and I delivered the cookies. Perhaps there had been just one too many deaths to make it a successful event. With any luck, I'd find Minnie sitting in her tiny, makeshift office counting up membership fees.

  Sellers called to me and tempted me with colorful bird toys and all-weather gear as I hurried down the aisle toward the utility room that was the money hub for the West Coast Bird Watching Society. John had surprised me with the information that a great deal of money had been stolen from the box the first night of the convention. Briggs had never mentioned it, so I could only assume he didn't know about it. John might not have considered it relevant to the murder case, but my intuition told me it was important.

  The door to the utility r
oom was shut. My enthusiasm and hope dropped like a stone in my gut. I badly needed to talk to Minnie. I decided to give luck one more chance. I knocked heavily on the solid door. No answer.

  "Hello, can I help you?" the voice said from behind.

  I spun around. "Minnie," I blurted happily. She was holding a greasy paper bowl of nachos and a drink. "I'm so glad to see you. Here let me get the door for you." It was my perfect excuse to follow her into the small office space. Even after the theft, the metal money box was sitting right out in the open on the table she was using for her desk.

  Minnie appeared to be a colorful, friendly easy-going woman, just the type of person to leave a money box unattended and behind an unlocked door. Probably not the best qualities for a club treasurer but then it was also possibly not the most sought offer job. Finding out the history of her time as treasurer was the perfect way to start a conversation about club monies.

  "How do you like being the club treasurer?" I asked. "It's a lot of responsibility."

  Minnie sat down with a feathery groan. She lifted a chip. Orange nacho cheese dripped off the edge. She smartly picked up her napkin and put it on her lap. "Normally, I enjoy the job, even though I didn't choose it. It sort of chose me. I was one of the few members with financial skills who was willing to take it on, but after this week, I'm thinking of handing this metal box over to someone else. Let someone else carry the burden for awhile." She pushed the entire chip into her mouth and grabbed her napkin to dab cheese off the corners of her mouth while she chewed.

  "I suppose this week has been extra hard because of the convention and membership drive." I decided to let her tell me about the stolen money. I doubted John was supposed to mention it to outsiders. I didn't want to get him in trouble, and I wanted to see if Minnie would share the story. She seemed like the gregarious, outgoing type who had no problem telling everyone everything that was going on in her life.

  My assessment of her was correct. She swallowed dramatically and grabbed some soda to wash down the food. "This week has been one horrible thing after another. It all started the first night of the convention, the night before the murder." She paused to have another chip. I smiled and waited patiently to let her know I was all ears. Although, the whole thing would have gone a bit easier without the paper basket of cheesy nachos.

  She repeated the dramatic swallow and soda sip, then placed the cup down. A napkin dab followed. "That first night I'd collected a good deal of money from membership fees and those delicious cookies from the bakery. I left the box here and went out to do some shopping before heading over to the stage for Nora's slideshow. That slideshow should have been an omen, signaling to all of us that it was going to be a terrible week."

  "I felt so badly for Nora. Did something happen to the money?" I asked.

  "After the horrible event, with Mason cruelly embarrassing Nora, I decided to come back to the office to calm down from the whole thing. I thought I'd get a head start on sorting the bills for a bank deposit. But most of it was gone. Stolen."

  I put on a good show, hand to chest and audible gasp to appear shocked. "That's awful. Do you have any idea who might be responsible?"

  "Wish I did. I suppose it's my fault. I left the box here on the table when I went to the slideshow."

  I suppressed a smile thinking that the same box had been left on the same table behind the same unlocked door just ten minutes earlier.

  Minnie finished another cheese laden chip. "I don't mind taking the blame, but what I really hate is the accusatory tones and looks as if I might have taken the money myself. That's why I'm going to hand off this job to someone else."

  "I don't blame you at all. Well, I'll let you finish your lunch." I headed for the door pretending to leave, but I had one more question to ask. I wanted it to seem as off-handed and random as possible so as not to stir up any suspicion. My theory was still way too full of holes to take seriously. "This might seem like an odd question, Minnie, but when Elsie and I delivered the cookies you were eating an orange."

  Minnie peered up at me as if horns had just sprouted from my head. The next cheesy chip stopped inches from her mouth. "Uh, yes, I suppose I was."

  "I told you it was an odd question." I laughed airily. "But I have one more to ask. Did you happen to share that orange with anyone?"

  Her brows inched up toward her hair line. "Share?" She gave it a few seconds of thought. "No, I ate it all by myself. Why do you ask?"

  "It's nothing. Just silliness. Forget I even mentioned it. Enjoy your nachos." I slipped out before she could ask me anything else.

  Chapter 34

  My phone rang as I stepped out into the auditorium. The day's low turnout meant much less noise along with more desperate vendors. A woman tried her best to get me to check out her bird oil paintings, but I smiled and pointed to my phone to let her know I was answering a call. There was some peripheral noise coming from Briggs' end of the call, so we both had to talk louder than usual.

  "Where are you?" he asked.

  "I'll tell you but no lectures." Just as I finished the last word, I turned past a kiosk that was selling custom bird perches. I ran directly into Briggs. We stared at each other, phones still to ears. I burst out laughing.

  "Fancy meeting you here," he said as he put away his phone.

  "I was just about to say the same thing."

  "I suppose you're hot on the trail of the killer," he said.

  "I just might be. And yourself?"

  "Same here. Because it's my job." He started walking back toward the stage area, where I'd just come from, so I turned and walked with him.

  "Who are you here to see?" I had to speed up to keep up with him. "Your pace makes me think this is urgent, and the case is about to break wide open."

  "Not quite but Minnie told me she would be going to lunch, and I didn't want to miss her."

  "You haven't missed her. She's in the utility closet eating her lunch."

  Briggs stopped so fast I proceeded a few steps before it clicked in my brain to stop as well. "You've already spoken to Minnie?" he asked. "Of course you have." Sometimes there was pride in his tone when he thought I was onto something, and other times he sounded somewhat irritated that I'd beat him to it. At the moment, it was the latter.

  He pulled out his notebook and pen and kept walking.

  "Oh my, this looks official. You don't think Minnie did it, do you?" I asked, again taking long steps to keep up with his stride.

  "Do you?" he asked. He was still stinging that I got to Minnie before him, so it seemed we were locked in a game.

  "Nope, not at all," I said.

  A woman stepped in front of us with some pickle samples from the food court. I never turned down a good dill pickle, but Briggs was on a mission and didn't want to be bothered with a taste test.

  I nibbled my pickle as I half-skipped to stay by his side. "You haven't told me whether or not you think Minnie did it," I reminded him.

  "No, I don't think so. I just need some information." We reached the utility room door. Briggs knocked and opened the door. "Ms. Sherman, I'm glad I caught you," he said. "I have a quick question."

  Minnie had finished the nachos. She was just taking a sip of her drink as we walked in. She seemed confused to see me again, which made perfect sense.

  "Of course, Detective. Anything I can do to help."

  I held my hands behind my back and leaned forward, ears twitching. Briggs had my full attention, which made a faint grin tilt his mouth. "On the day of the murder, you went on a short bird watching excursion during the lunch hour."

  "That's right." Minnie folded her hands, one over the other, and rested them on the table in front of her. "Andrew and I wanted to show the two German visitors some of the birds prevalent in our coastal forests." She frowned. "It's just awful what happened to Peter. He was such a nice man."

  "During our last interview, you said the four of you stayed together," Briggs continued. He didn't seem to have time for sidebars or emotional comments. S
omething told me he had his killer, and he was just gathering loose ends to make the arrest. Now, I was more attentive than ever.

  "Why yes." Blush rose in her cheeks. "I guess that wasn't entirely accurate. There was about a twenty minute interval when I showed Peter and Francis a hawk's nest I'd spotted on an earlier excursion. Andrew said he'd spotted a ruffed grouse, so he wandered off on his own with the intention of meeting back at the picnic tables."

  I chirped in excitement, eliciting a fleeting scowl from the detective. It seemed I'd been on the right path too.

  Briggs scribbled down some notes, then lifted his gaze. "Did Andrew make it back?"

  Minnie had to think about it. "Yes, yes he did. Just after the three of us returned to the tables."

  "How did he seem?" Briggs asked. Up until then, his questions had seemed innocuous to Minnie, but her face changed. The color was fading, and her mouth was drawn tight. "His usual self, I think." She nervously fidgeted with the ring on her pinky. "I'm not really sure. I didn't really think about it at the time. Do you think that Andrew—" Her words trailed off.

  "Just trying to figure out exactly where everyone was that day. The first time we spoke, you assured me that you were all out on an excursion during lunch. But after Peter's accident, I was able to speak at length with Francis through an interpreter. He remembered that Andrew had gone off on his own for a section of time. I just wanted to clear that up."

  "I see." You could see the wild gears spinning in Minnie's head. She knew something was up.

  Briggs' next question pulled the wind from her a little more. "Francis also said that money had been stolen from the club." He glanced at the metal box. "Why didn't you mention that?"