Rant of Ravens Page 7

  Lark slammed her hand down on the granite breakfast bar.

  Rachel glanced from one to the other. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “You’re positive she’s not here?” urged Lark.

  “One hundred percent. Now, will one of you please tell me what’s going on?”

  “The peregrines are missing,” Lark said.

  Eric looked up. “So’s the white gyrfalcon.”

  “Missing?” Rachel wet her lips. “I don’t understand.”

  “What’s there to understand?” Lark said. “It’s simple. The birds are gone.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Rachel figured there had to be a logical explanation for the birds’ disappearance. “Maybe somebody moved them to a different cage.”

  “We thought of that,” Lark replied. “We checked.”

  “Well, maybe someone moved them to a different facility,” Rachel suggested. “Isn’t there another rehab center near Boulder?”

  “Ja,” Eric said. “But I called the main office. No one with the Park Service has been out here today, except for me.”

  “And I checked with all the EPOCH member volunteers,” Lark added. She pulled a pitcher of iced tea out of the refrigerator, then rummaged in the cupboard. “Same thing.”

  Eric raked a hand through his hair. “It makes no sense that they’re gone.”

  “Maybe they escaped,” Rachel said.

  “Not a chance.” Lark poured tea into a tall glass, then held up the pitcher. “Anyone else?”

  Eric and Rachel both shook their heads. Eric walked to the patio doors and stared out toward the Raptor House. “The cages were locked up tight, but even if the doors had been opened, only the gyr might fly. The peregrines haven’t fledged yet.”

  “So what you’re saying is someone stole them?”

  “That’s how it looks,” Lark said, pressing her glass against the ice dispenser in the refrigerator door. Cubes clinked into the iced tea.

  “What about security? Isn’t there some sort of system in place?”

  Eric shook his head. “We’ve never needed one.”

  “The Park Service has keys to the cages,” explained Lark, “and there’s a set in the office for the volunteers. Anyone could have picked them up. It’s never been a problem.”

  “The question is, why would anyone take them?” Eric asked. “Those birds have no value to anyone.”

  Lark took a swig of her drink, then plunked the glass down on the breakfast nook table. “That’s not exactly true. The gyrfalcon’s worth a bundle, given the right buyer.”

  Eric frowned, turning away from the door. “Get real, Lark. If someone planned to make any money, they’d need a foreign buyer. And a way to smuggle the gyr out of the country. There’s no way. Not after the crackdown following Operation Falcon.”

  “What about the peregrines?” Rachel asked.

  Eric slapped nonexistent dirt from his jeans. “Their value’s even more limited. Someone in need of new stock might want them for propagation. But why they take the chance of stealing wild birds when you can purchase a captive-bred bird from an authorized breeder for between six hundred and fifteen hundred dollars. The penalties for misappropriating wildlife are just too stiff to take those risks.”

  Lark took another swig of her tea, prompting Rachel to change her mind. Pouring herself a glass, she asked, “Just how stiff are they?”

  Eric straddled a kitchen stool, leaned on the counter, and raised a finger. “For one violation of the Lacey Act, a person’s looking at a five-year prison term and up to twenty thousand dollars in fines.”

  “Multiply that by three,” Lark added. “Hey”—she snapped her fingers—“what if somebody’s trying to discredit Miriam or the Raptor House?”

  “Why would anyone want to do that?” Eric asked.

  Rachel could venture a guess. She recalled Donald Bursau’s warning to Miriam, and began to suspect that the birds’ disappearance had something to do with his death. One thing she knew for sure: Aunt Miriam was going to flip when she learned the falcons were gone. “I think we should call the sheriff.”

  “I already did,” Eric said.

  Lark carried her tea into the family room. Setting it down on the fireplace mantel, she stared out the window. “Rae, are you sure Miriam hasn’t been home?”

  “Positive. Why do you keep asking me that?”

  “Because her car’s parked outside.”

  Rachel crossed the family room and peered out the window. Sure enough, Miriam’s green Toyota was angled into a space near the front of the house. “She must have ridden with Charles.”

  Lark fingered her thick braid. “Of course.”

  Then another possibility struck Rachel, sending fear sluicing through her. “Unless… what if she came home and surprised someone taking the birds?”

  Lark’s fingers froze in position. “Don’t even say that.”

  “But what if—”

  “I told you not to say that.”

  Eric pulled up straight. “That’s a crazy idea.”

  Rachel hoped she was wrong. “Look at the chain of events. Donald Bursau comes out to talk with Miriam, warns her to be careful, and then—”

  “He did what?” Lark interrupted.

  “He told her to watch her back. Three days later, you and I found his body in The Thicket, and, according to Gertie, he disappeared sometime Monday.”

  “Ja, but who can believe anything Gertie says?” Eric asked.

  Rachel shrugged. “Sheriff Garcia agreed. And now, the birds are missing.”

  “There’s still no reason to jump to conclusions,” Eric protested. “For all we know, Miriam is still with Charles. Or, if she did come home, maybe she took the birds… somewhere?”

  “Like where?” Lark asked, turning away from the window. “Where would she take them?”

  “And why?” Rachel asked.

  Eric grimaced and scratched his head. “You’re right. I’m reaching.”

  Lark picked up her glass and studied it, twisting it in a ray of sunlight and sparking a shower of rainbows. “I don’t know. It’s possible she might have taken them if she thought they were in danger.”

  “But why would they be in danger?” said a voice from the doorway.

  Rachel whirled, surprised to find Sheriff Garcia leaning against the dining room door jamb. “How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough to hear the tail end of your conversation,” he said, stepping into the room. “Your aunt didn’t tell you where she was going this morning?”

  “She told Eric,” Rachel replied. “She and Charles went birding at Barr Lake.”

  Garcia glanced at Eric. “Is that true?”

  “That’s what she said,” Eric replied. Then, as if it was an afterthought, he added, “I’m sure they’re still there.”

  Rachel’s twinge of fear grew to a stab. “What time did you tell me they’d be home?”

  “Around dinnertime, but I was only guessing.”

  Sheriff Garcia stroked his mustache. “Okay, let’s work another problem. What time did you notice the birds missing?”

  “A little after five o’clock,” replied Eric.

  “Any signs of a break-in?”

  “None.”

  “Which means that someone used a key to gain access to the birds.”

  “Ja. It looks like.”

  Rachel’s stab of fear had now grown to a gash. “Sheriff, what if my aunt surprised the birdnapper? She may have been kidnapped, or…”

  “We’ll find her,” he said calmly, fixing Rachel with a steady gaze. “It’s like when one of my kids disappears from the shelter. They may run, but they always leave behind a clue.”

  Suddenly Lark, who had remained silent until then, drew herself up. “Are you saying you think Miriam took off with the birds?”

  Garcia studied her, rubbing his fingers back and forth along his jaw. “Now that you mention it, the possibility crossed my mind.”

  The two faced off. Eric scowl
ed from his seat at the kitchen counter. Finally Rachel stepped between them. “Look, this is getting us nowhere.”

  “She’s right,” Eric said.

  Garcia was first to break off the stare. His gaze flitted around the room. “I think the first thing I need to do is take a look around. Unless, of course, you have any objections.”

  “None.” Rachel prayed Aunt Miriam didn’t have any secrets to hide. “Be my guest.”

  Together the four of them scoured the premises. Other than the two empty cages, the Raptor House teemed with life. Birds screeched and squawked. Wings battered the air.

  Perky made his requisite appearance during their sweep of Bird Haven, dive-bombing Rachel as she stood at the end of Miriam’s bed. Otherwise, nothing seemed disturbed.

  “Okay, there’s no sign of a struggle, no sign of forced entry,” Garcia said, once they were back in the kitchen. “So what did we learn?”

  “That it’s an inside job,” Eric concluded.

  Garcia nodded his head in agreement. “Who all was here on Monday?”

  “Why?” Rachel asked, already sure of the answer.

  “Because I checked the records on the telephone call Donald Bursau received just before checking out of his hotel. That call came from here.”

  “From Bird Haven?” Rachel, Lark, and Eric exclaimed in unison.

  Garcia nodded. “Someone placed the call from a phone on the premises around six o’clock.”

  “We were all here, along with half a dozen other EPOCH members. Eric arrived with the news that a LeConte’s sparrow was spotted about quarter to six.”

  “Ja. Harry drove me up from The Thicket, then left right away.”

  “Did he make a phone call?” Garcia asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Look,” Lark said, “none of us had anything to do with that man’s murder. So if you’re suggesting that one of us lured Donald Bursau to his death, Vic, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “The evidence speaks for itself,” declared Garcia, punctuating the statement with sharp jabs against the countertop. “It’s a fact. Someone called Bursau from this house on Monday evening.” He paused, tipping his head as though testing the weight of his next statement. “Plus, the coroner places his death on Monday, between seven o’clock and midnight. You do the math.”

  Rachel didn’t believe what she was hearing. Was it possible that one of the birdwatchers was behind Bursau’s murder? There were phones all over the house. There was even one in the bathroom. Any one of them could have made the phone call. So who else had been here that night, aside from the three of them and Aunt Miriam? Dorothy MacBean and Cecilia Meyer. Andrew and Opal Henderson. Forest Nettleman, Charles Pendergast, and Gertie.

  “Rachel, are you absolutely positive your aunt’s not been back today?” Garcia asked, picking up a framed photograph of Miriam and Will taken at the entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park.

  “One hundred percent,” she answered, pushing aside the nagging doubts that had plagued her since the trip to look around upstairs. She hadn’t realized it until now, but Miriam’s suitcase, the one she’d been packing for her trip to the Middle East, was gone.

  It had been on the floor at the end of the bed, where Rachel stood while Garcia and the others conducted their sweep of the master suite. It had been there this morning. It had been there for days. For it to disappear two weeks prior to Miriam’s scheduled departure for the Middle East, a place with more active falconers per capita than any other region—not to mention falconers who’d been known to spend exorbitant sums to acquire prized birds—seemed too coincidental. Rachel feared the conclusions Garcia might draw and was unsure what to think herself.

  Footsteps at the door saved her from further thought. Charles Pendergast strode into the kitchen, decked out in full birder garb—tan pants, tan shirt, and an olive-green vest with pencils, pens, and pads sticking out of the multiple pockets. “Where’s Miriam?” he asked.

  “We thought she was with you,” Lark declared.

  “Ja,” agreed Eric. “Didn’t you and she go birding together?”

  “Yes, but I dropped her back here about four o’clock. She wanted to talk with Rachel.” Charles shuffled across the floor, his knee-high green waders squeaking against the tile floor like markers on a dry board. He plopped down at the breakfast nook table. “I was supposed to meet her back here around six o’clock. Why? What’s up?”

  “She seems to be missing,” Garcia replied.

  “And three of the birds are gone, too,” added Eric.

  “Is this some sort of joke?” Pendergast’s eyes darted from one to the other.

  Garcia shook his head. “Sorry, Charles. Tell me, what did she want to talk to Rachel about?”

  Charles dropped his gaze to the table. “I don’t think I should say. Not if Miriam hasn’t spoken with her yet. It’s sort of a personal matter.”

  Garcia placed a hand on his shoulder. “I need you to answer the question.”

  Rachel saw Lark and Eric exchange glances. The sheriff was watching Charles closely. He ran the toe of his boot across a grouted seam, then raised his head, pinning Rachel with an ice-blue stare. “Miriam wanted to tell Rachel about us. We’ve been seeing each other for the past year, and things have gotten kind of serious.” He cleared his throat. “Miriam and I are in love, Rachel. She wanted to tell you herself. We hope you’ll be happy for us.”

  Lark gasped. “You’re getting married?”

  “No.” Charles toyed with the signet ring on his perfectly manicured hand. “We plan to live together. It was Miriam’s idea.”

  Garcia coughed. Rachel wondered if he was choking on the information, as she was.

  Eric congratulated Charles, giving Rachel time to rein in her astonishment. She could tell from the first that Charles was interested in her aunt, but Miriam had never indicated that his interest was reciprocated. At least not to the extent that she would cohabit with the man. Besides, Aunt Miriam had been married three times. She wasn’t the live-together type.

  “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it, until we find Aunt Miriam,” Rachel said. She turned to face Garcia. “Can I file a missing-person’s report, Sheriff?”

  He shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do for forty-eight hours.”

  “Miriam could be dead by then,” Lark protested.

  “Don’t even say that.” Rachel moved to the patio doors and pressed her nose to the glass. The warmth of the day lay shrouded in twilight. Long’s Peak towered above the valley, a black silhouette against a slate blue sky joined by a rippled line of purple to the craggy outline of Lumpy Ridge. In the distance, The Thicket stretched like a dark fence along the banks of Black Canyon Creek. Rachel flipped on the lights and turned back to Garcia. “What if she’s right? What if my aunt is in danger?”

  “The best I can do is put out an all-points bulletin in connection with the missing birds,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “But, to be honest, the longer I stand around here, the more convinced I am Miriam took those birds herself.”

  Charles stared slack-mouthed at Garcia. “Have you lost your marbles, Vic?”

  “Maybe. But, just to be on the safe side, I think I’ll have a few of my guys check out the airport, car rental firms, and the airport and local hotels.”

  “How many hotels are there?” asked Rachel.

  “Locally, around a hundred and seventy-five. That’s counting the condominium complexes and the ranching operations.”

  Rachel’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

  “Hey, last summer Elk Park had over three million visitors,” Lark said. “People have to sleep somewhere.”

  “Added to Denver’s airport hotels, you’re up to checking about two hundred, then. What are we supposed to do, Sheriff?” Rachel’s voice rose, along with her blood pressure. “Sit around here and wait until you find Aunt Miriam’s body dumped in The Thicket?”

  Shortly thereafter, Garcia had shown himself out.
After a few more minutes, Eric headed out to lock up the Raptor House. Charles left right after him, and Lark excused herself to “dig up some writing supplies.”

  Left alone, stunned by the revelations of the past hour, Rachel sank down on the family room couch and tried to sort everything out.

  First, Donald Bursau was dead, and now Miriam was missing, along with three birds from the Raptor House. How were those three things connected? Had one of the birdwatchers been involved in the smuggling scam Bursau was investigating, and killed him to keep things quiet? Had Miriam known who the person was? If so, was she next on the killer’s list?

  The thought set Rachel’s heart racing and her tears flowing. Rachel didn’t think she could stand it if anything bad happened to her aunt. Miriam had been like a mother to her the last fourteen years. Perhaps closer, in that she had also been a friend.

  Rachel picked up the phone and tried calling her father in Chicago. The answering machine picked up. Rachel didn’t leave a message, afraid that Grandma Wilder might intercept it. As she hung up, Lark returned with two legal pads and a couple of pencils.

  “Since it’s obvious Garcia’s going to drag his feet, we’ll have to figure this out ourselves,” she said, sitting down in the chair opposite Rachel. She scribbled something on her pad, then looked up. Concern flashed across her face. “Are you okay?”

  Rachel wiped her eyes with her shirtsleeve. “Yeah, peachy.”

  Lark reached out and touched her knee. “Hey, Rae, she’s okay. Trust me, I feel it.”

  “I’m okay. I just—” A fresh onslaught of tears robbed her of her voice, and she squeezed her eyes shut to stem the flow. Crying wasn’t going to solve anything.

  “You’ve just got to think positive, Rae. Keep a stiff upper lip.”

  Rachel drew a ragged breath. “You’ve been hanging around here too much, Lark. You’re beginning to sound like her.”

  “Maybe so, but she’d expect us to do something. Not just sit around and twiddle our thumbs.”

  Rachel straightened up. Lark had a point. Aunt Miriam wouldn’t sit around expecting answers to fall into her lap. She’d dig in like a robin after a worm. “Okay, no twiddling.”

  “Right, and since it seems like everything ties back to the murder, the first thing I think we should do is figure out which one of us wanted Donald Bursau dead.” Lark tapped her pad. “I’ve listed the suspects, everyone who was here that night. Now let’s see if we can figure out any motives.”