Sacrifice of Buntings Read online

  The water was warm from the sun, but her blood ran cold when Dwight’s light bounced off the tail of an alligator sliding into the water.

  She was almost to shore. Another foot or two, and she would be on solid ground. Her foot struck bottom, and she ran for the trees.

  The alligator slithered from the water behind her.

  There was only one thing to do. Leaping into the air, she landed squarely on top of its snout.

  It thrashed its tail trying to dislodge her, but she reached down, clamped its mouth together, and hung on.

  The gator bucked like a bronco. It twisted and jerked, then reared up on its hind legs and swung its head side to side.

  A shot rang out.

  The alligator dropped and lay still.

  Another shot rang out.

  Dwight had hit the gator, but the bullets were meant for her.

  Jumping to her feet, she ran for the trees and sprinted toward the parking lot.

  Detective Stone arrived just as she reached the cars and the swamp boat was pulling back up to the dock. Dwayne and Dwight tried turning the boat around again, but Stone’s men pinned them down with high-powered guns.

  “My Lord, you look like you’ve been wrestling with an alligator,” Stone said, once the brothers were in custody and screaming for their lawyer. “Are you okay?”

  Rachel smiled weakly. “Nothing a tetanus shot, a hot bath, and a little sleep won’t cure.”

  She had gotten her wish, minus the shot. Lark had drawn her a bath while Dorothy and Cecilia ordered room service. She had slept until the phone rang at nine. It was Detective Stone, wanting to know if the women wanted to accompany him to unbury a treasure. He figured they deserved a reward for all they’d been through.

  And they weren’t the only ones invited. Fancy and Dwayne Carter were there. As the primary shooter, Dwight was still behind bars, but Stone needed Dwayne’s help finding the burial mound.

  None of the Andersons or Victor Wolcott were there. In an emergency late-night vote, the Hyde Island Authority had removed Wolcott from the board and approved the land swap. Swamper’s Island now belonged to the state. Katie was home under house arrest, pending charges, but it appeared that Patricia and Nevin would get their golf course.

  Guy Saxby had come calling the night before.

  “You’re a cheat, Guy,” Dorothy had told him. “I cannot be with a man I cannot respect.”

  It had taken Rachel years to figure out what Dorothy had learned in a weekend. Based on Saxby’s response, it was going to take him a lot longer than that.

  The mound was under destruction when Rachel, Lark, Cecilia, and Dorothy arrived. Dwayne stood off to one side in handcuffs, waiting for the deputies to hit pay dirt. He studied the activity like he still stood to gain from the booty.

  “What were you boys thinking?” Fancy asked him. “How could you screw up like this?”

  They had more than screwed up, thought Rachel. They had murdered two people and attempted to kill seven others. It was of small comfort to know they would have been caught.

  Fancy blew her nose. She looked her age today, and then some. Her bright blue eye shadow only accentuated the redness and puffiness of her face. “You’ve ruined everything.”

  “It’s the treasure, Ma,” said Dwayne. He gestured with his arms, holding them out in front of him and jingling the cuffs. “It’s here, just like Pa said.”

  “Your pa was an alcoholic, and crazier than a loon.” Fancy belted him on the shoulder. “We had a good thing going. We were going to sell the land and move into Brunswick, buy us a nice house.”

  “Ma, with this treasure we can buy five nice houses.”

  “Not anymore, son.”

  “I think we’ve got something, sir,” one of the deputies shouted.

  It took two deputies to drag the strongbox free of the mound. It measured thirteen inches by nine inches by seven inches tall and was decorated with an ornate design.

  “It fits Aponi Carter’s era,” said Detective Stone. “Though where she would have laid her hands on one of these, we’ll never know.”

  “They were used on stagecoaches,” Dorothy said. “Maybe one ended up in the swamp.”

  “Open it,” Dwayne said. He had edged closer, his guard on his tail.

  The deputy who had unearthed it reached for a pry bar and torqued open the lid. Glass beads spilled onto the ground, along with several glass rings and a rosary made of coral. Inside, several old iron tools were nestled in rotting cloth.

  “There’s got to be more in there than that.” Dwayne said.

  The deputy dug deeper. “Wait. Here’s something.”

  He came up with a brass plaque. It was embossed with the image of a king, and inscribed across the bottom were the words “King Felipe II, Don Carlos de Hapsburg.”

  “He was the King of Spain at the time of the conquistadors,” Dorothy said.

  “That’s it?” Dwayne’s voice rose in anger. “That’s the treasure?”

  “It looks like it,” Detective Stone said. “Doesn’t seem worth it now, does it?”

  “Well, it’s got to be worth something,” Dorothy said. “A few thousand dollars.”

  Everyone stared at her.

  Kent.

  “Did you hear that?” Cecilia asked.

  “Hear what?” Dorothy cocked her head to listen.

  Kent.

  “It sounds like a clarinet, or a child’s horn,” Lark said.

  “That’s the call of the ivory-billed woodpecker,” Rachel said.

  Kent.

  “How do you know that?” Lark asked.

  “I looked it up on the Internet.”

  “It could be the pileated,” Dorothy said.

  “No, their call is different. The ivory-billed’s call is softer and has characteristic pauses between the notes.” Rachel wished she had thought to bring her binoculars. At least Dorothy, Cecilia, and Lark had remembered. “Look in the trees. They don’t call in flight.”

  Everyone was listening now.

  Kent. Kent. Kent.

  “Who cares about a bird?” said Dwayne.

  The deputy yanked on his cuffs, and he fell quiet.

  Suddenly a large bird swooped from the trees. It was a female, but the black and white of the wings were unmistakable. It lit on a tree at the edge of the clearing. Rachel pulled her camera phone out of her pocket, focused, and shot. She recorded three pictures before the bird flew away.

  “We have to call the hotline,” Cecilia said.

  “No,” Dorothy said. “We need to call the state. The last thing we want is a horde of birders descending on the island and disturbing the birds.”

  “I agree with Dorothy,” Lark said. “What do you think, Rae?”

  Rachel stared at the photographs on her camera phone. “I need to e-mail Kirk.”

  Painted Bunting

  Passerina ciris

  Family: Fringillidae

  APPEARANCE: A small, beautiful bird, the male painted bunting is the most spectacularly colored of all North American songbirds, with a gaudy combination of red, blue, and green feathers. He has a blue head, a green back, a dark red nape, and red under-parts, rump, and eye ring. The females are plain green with no markings.

  RANGE: Painted buntings have two distinct breeding populations. The eastern population—found along the Atlantic Coast from North Carolina to central Florida—winters in southern Florida and the northwestern Caribbean. The western population—covering much of Louisiana, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, and southward into northern Mexico—winters in southern Mexico and Central America.

  HABITAT: The painted bunting favors somewhat open areas with dense brush at all seasons. A fan of the southeastern thickets, males often sing from perches well-hidden among foliage in low trees.

  VOICE: Painted buntings have a bright, fast warble: graffiti graffiti spaghetti-for-two.

  BEHAVIORS: Males defend their territory by singing from a high perch, often hidden among the uppermost foliage of a tree. Mal
es, who may have more than one mate, will actually fight to hold territories. These fights are sometimes bloody and even fatal.

  CONSERVATION: The painted bunting diet consists mostly of seeds and insects, with insects predominating during the breeding season. There has been a significant decline in the numbers of painted buntings over the past thirty-five years. While the exact cause is unknown, it is most likely related to habitat. Both the eastern and western populations have been negatively impacted by an increase in land development resulting in the degradation or destruction of habitat. Cowbird parasitism may also be impacting the eastern population. Finally, because of their spectacular appearance, male painted buntings are popular as cage birds, and thousands are taken annually in Mexico and Central America for export to bird dealers in Europe.

  About the author

  Chris Goff is the award-winning author of five environmental novels. The bestselling Birdwatcher’s Mystery series was nominated for two WILLA Literary Awards, a Colorado Author’s League Award, and published in the UK and Japan. The sixth installment in the series, A PARLIAMENT OF OWLS, will be launching in September 2015.

  Acknowledgments

  My deepest thanks to Lydia Thompson, artist and birder extraordinaire, who supplied me with insider information on the birds of Coastal Georgia; to the tour guides, who escorted my father and me through the swamp, for sharing their knowledge of the wildlife and legends of the Okefenokee Swamp; and to Suzanne Proulx for her friendship and expertise in all things writing.

  Additional thanks to Gwen Shuster-Haynes, Margie Lawson, and the woman of the “Think Tank” (Christine Jorgensen, Leslie O’Kane, Cheryl McGonigle, Kay Bergstrom, and Carol Caverly) for their unflagging help, support, and encouragement; and to Averill Craig for submitting the winning title for this novel.

  Finally, I would like to thank Cindy Hwang, my former editor; Peter Rubie, my agent, for his unflagging confidence; my family, my biggest cheerleaders, who continue to believe I can do anything—well, almost anything; and my new publisher, Astor + Blue Editions, who is committed to keeping the stories of the EPOCH (Elk Park Ornithological Chapter) members circulating. I can’t think of better partners than A+B and my new editor, Jillian Ports, to help me navigate the new waters of today’s publishing world.

  Read all of the Birdwatcher’s Mystery series by Christine Goff, published by Astor+Blue Editions:

  *A Rant of Ravens

  *Death of a Songbird

  *A Nest in the Ashes

  *Death Takes a Gander

  *A Sacrifice of Buntings

  www.astorandblue.com