Death Shoots a Birdie (9 page)

Dorothy started to protest.

Rachel reasoned with her. “If we can’t get in, he can’t either. He did say nobody gets in.”

“But the vendors can,” said Dorothy. “And I’ll bet the presenters can, too.”

Rachel pondered, weighing the risks, and then said, “I know another way.”

“How?”

“Follow me, and try to act natural.” She guessed she had now assumed the mantle of accomplice. Flashing the security guard a smile, she led Dorothy past another set of locked double doors to a hallway on the right. “The public bathrooms are down this way, and there’s another entrance to the vendors’ area,” she said in a hushed voice. “That entrance can’t be locked off. Let’s hope it’s not guarded.”

The entrance to the bathroom was halfway down the hall. Rachel glanced around to make sure no one had followed them, then scurried past the doorway to the ladies’ room. At the end of the hallway, a moveable wall blocked the entry to the vendor’s area.

“Keep your eyes open,” said Rachel, leaning her shoulder into the wall. It moved slightly, but took a second shove before sliding back far enough for Rachel to slip through. “The coast is clear,” she whispered.

Dorothy slipped through behind her. “Push it back into place,” she whispered back, excitement tingeing her voice. “In case someone comes. I wonder if Guy was able to get in.”

“Do you want me to wait here?” asked Rachel.

“No,” said Dorothy, gripping her arm. “I want you to come with me.”

The room was large, with no lights on and only a panel of windows along the back wall. In the twilight the cloth-draped displays looked like ghosts grouped for a photo shot. The two of them circled the lunch area, and headed toward the far wall. To the best of Rachel’s recollection, the Leica booth was near the windows, across from Beau and Reggie’s Birds of Prey display.

“Guy?” Dorothy called out using a stage whisper.

Rachel thought she heard a rustle. Was it was Saxby or one of Beau and Reggie’s birds? She braced for a scare.

“Guy?” Dorothy called out again.

There was another rustle, followed this time by what sounded like a struggle. Two angry voices conferred, but Rachel couldn’t make out the words.

Dorothy stopped dead in her tracks.

“Don’t stop now,” said Rachel. She was curious about the commotion. It sounded like two people wrestling in the next aisle.

Dorothy may as well have been paralyzed. She stood stock-still, her hands clenched at her sides, her face a ghostly shade of white. Was she afraid she’d find Saxby in some sort of tryst? Not likely, based on the tone of the voices.

Rachel gripped her shoulders. “Here, I’ll take a look,” she whispered. “It’s probably Beau and Reggie working with the birds. I’ll bet Guy’s not even here yet.”

Moving past Dorothy, Rachel tiptoed forward. She wished she could make out the words. She only caught snatches. She heard the word
swamp,
the word
trade,
and then
put that away
. Someone cursed, then her shoulder brushed against a rack of clothes at the end of the aisle, and all she could hear was the clanging of hangers banging against each other.

She froze.

The clanging subsided, but the room had grown deathly still.

“No!”

A sharp retort shattered the silence, followed by a splintering of glass.

She heard another sharp retort, and dropped to her knees. It sounded like gunfire.

R
achel pulled Dorothy down beside her. A third shot rang out, then a fourth.
Who the hell was shooting?

Pressing her face against the cold linoleum, Rachel searched the floor for a pair of feet, a flash of pant leg, anything that might signal where the shooter was standing.

Her heart pounded. Her breath came in quick, short gasps.

She held her fingers to her lips, as much to quell her own hard breathing as to keep Dorothy quiet. Shock had done a good job up until now, but the older woman’s face looked pinched, with a side of tears imminent.

What about the security guard? He had been standing outside the main doors not ten minutes ago. He had to have heard the shots. That meant someone would be in here soon to investigate, and they’d be discovered.

Holding Dorothy’s hands in a viselike grip, Rachel listened for the sounds of a rescue.

Nothing.
But then, she hadn’t heard any sound for at least a minute, except for the pounding of her heart.

Rachel released Dorothy’s hands and eased herself onto her elbows. She listened hard. There was a creak behind her. It came from the opposite side of the room. Was someone sneaking out the same way she and Dorothy had come in?

Climbing onto her hands and knees, Rachel glanced behind her, gesturing for Dorothy to stay on the floor. While she might be able to go slinking around on all fours, she figured that would be too much for Dorothy.

Instead of staying put, Dorothy crawled forward and lifted the table skirt, wearing an expression of shock. “It’s him!” she whispered, her voice rising in panic.

“Who? Saxby?”

“He . . . he’s on the floor. I can see his feet.”

Rachel crouched down and looked under the table. In the gap between the cloth coverings and the floor poked a sneaker-shod foot, flat on the ground, but pointing right toward them from the next aisle.

“Stay here,” Rachel whispered.

She moved slowly to the end of the row, staying low and listening. A squeak behind her made her start.

“You’re not leaving me behind,” said Dorothy. She, too, was crouched low.

Rachel rounded the table at the end of the aisle, and stopped abruptly. In the dim light she could see a man stretched out on the floor. Aside from the sneakers, he wore standard birding attire—shorts and a vented shirt. His upper torso and face were hidden under a gray cloth, but there was no concealing the hole in his back, or the blood puddled on the gray carpet.

“Guy!” Dorothy called out, scrambling to her feet and starting forward. Rachel reached up and pulled her down.

“Stay low, Dorothy. We don’t know where the shooter is.”

“Probably long gone,” insisted Dorothy. “And he needs help.”

Rachel shook her head.
He’s beyond help.
“We need to get the security guard.”

“I can’t just leave a person in need. There has to be something we can do.”

She was right. Saxby—at least, Rachel assumed it was Saxby—didn’t appear to be breathing, but the light was dim and his breathing could be shallow. She inched forward. She had done this before, checking a body for a pulse. She had hoped never to have to do it again.

Creeping to within inches of the body, she balked at touching his arm. It was startlingly warm. Her fingers probed his wrist, but she couldn’t detect a beat.

“We’re not experts,” she said to Dorothy, whose face shone pale in the gloom. “We need to get help.”

As if in response, Rachel heard a sudden rush of noise. The doors were flung open and all the noise from the hall poured inside, filling the silence.

“And to think that only last night—” Dorothy sniffled.

The burly security guard appeared, and Rachel leapt to her feet.

A frown creased his brow. “I told you, nobody is allowed in here.”

Rachel pointed to the ground. “We need an ambulance! Now! A man’s been shot!”

 

Things happened quickly after that. The security guard had repeated Rachel’s futile quest for a pulse, then used his radio to call in the emergency. By then, Dorothy had crept forward and kneeled beside the body.

“It’s not—”

“At all cool that you’re in here,” supplied the security guard. He gripped Rachel’s arm with one hand, and Dorothy’s arm with the other. “It don’t matter if he’s your friend, dead is dead. You’re contaminating a crime scene.” He herded everyone who had followed him in back out of the Nest, and then delivered Rachel and Dorothy into the hands of the police.

After that, things slowed down. The police taped off the entrance past the bathroom, barricaded the doors into the Nest, sequestered Dorothy somewhere, and put Rachel in a small, cold conference room where she sat for an interminable time.

Too bad she hadn’t gotten that coffee. Too bad they hadn’t been five minutes later. But it was Dorothy she felt most sorry for. At least Cecelia had gotten her three-day honeymoon. Dorothy had barely begun to flirt.

Eventually, a skinny black detective entered the conference room and made Rachel tell her story. Then he asked a few questions.

“What made you think there had been a scuffle?”

“Because it sounded like two people were fighting. Men, by the sound of their voices. I only picked up snatches of their conversation.” She told him the words.

“How many shots were fired?”

“Three, no four, I think.”

And then he had her go over it again.

“Where are you from?”

“New York City.”

“What do you do there?”

“I work in graphic production.”

“How long have you known Dorothy MacBean?”

“Nearly three years.” She hoped she wouldn’t have to tell him that she had found a dead body then, too.

“Who were you meeting in the vendors’ area?”

“Guy Saxby,” said Rachel. “I can’t believe he’s dead.” She wanted to lie down.

“Did you talk to him?”

“No.” She wanted to ask if she was a suspect, but that seemed like it might fall into the category of stupid question.

“And you didn’t see anyone else?”

“No.”

“Is there anything else you remember? Anything you haven’t told me?”

“No.”

At last the detective leaned forward. “All right, Ms. Wilder. Thank you for your cooperation. You’re free to go.”

Rachel stood up, feeling lightheaded. “Aren’t you going to tell me not to leave town, or something?”

“You’re staying until what . . . Sunday? We’ll talk before then. But it would be best if you didn’t talk to anyone about any of this. We don’t need you muddying up the waters.”

“Can you tell me where my friend is?” she asked.

“The older lady?”

Rachel nodded.

“Check with the sentry.”

Rachel stepped out into the hall and blinked. A bank of windows let in the sunlight. The conference room was gloomy by comparison. So much for the famous bright lights of the interrogation room.

She found the guard outside the doorway, but he couldn’t tell her a thing.

Stay on task, Wilder.
She had to find Dorothy. Surely they weren’t still asking her questions.

Rachel walked the hallway of the conference center without a clear plan. Out of nowhere, the Geechee woman’s prediction rang again in her head.
“Oona mus tek cyear.”
Take care.

Find Dorothy.
If the police were through talking with her, she might have headed back to the hotel. Or maybe not. She might have waited for Rachel. Even really upset, Dorothy was tough.

Coffee, maybe that would help her think.
Rachel looked for an Exit sign, getting a vision of herself walking through the corridors of the conference center forever. She turned the corner, and her stomach growled. She hadn’t had any breakfast or lunch, either. Glancing at her watch, she was stunned to find out it was only 10:45 A.M.

 

Rachel hadn’t paid much attention as the policeman had guided her through the conference center, but it soon became clear that the room where she’d been interrogated was in the Lucy Bell wing. In her search for an exit, she passed groups of stylishly dressed conferees who gave her brief, pitying looks. Apparently she was in need of a makeover, or maybe at this point it was hopeless.

She turned another corner and, to her amazement, there stood Dorothy and a tall man.

“Dorothy!” she said, then realized who she was standing beside. “Guy Saxby!”

“In the flesh,” he said again, but more somberly than the first time.

“I’m okay, dear,” Dorothy said. “But Guy is being taken downtown.” She gestured haphazardly with her hands. “Wherever that is.”

“It’s nothing,” Saxby said.

“Then who . . . ?”

“Becker,” Dorothy answered grimly.

Saxby nodded, just as the wiry black deputy who had interrogated Rachel came out of a doorway carrying a hot cup. “Ready to roll?” he asked Saxby.

Guy shrugged in Dorothy’s direction. “I’ll see you later,” he said. “This shouldn’t take long, really.”

Dorothy grabbed Rachel’s arm as the three men walked away. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost!”

“Well, I thought it was Guy lying in there,” Rachel said. “Didn’t you?”

“At first. Only because I was meeting him,” Dorothy said. “When I knelt beside the body, I saw it was Becker, but by then the security guard had arrived and separated us.”

“The cops didn’t tell me anything,” said Rachel. “That’s why, when I saw him—”

“It was obvious what you thought.”

“How did he find you?”

“Once he heard I was being questioned, he insisted on seeing me. The guard allowed it. I mean, he isn’t a suspect or anything.”

“We’re all suspects, Dorothy.”

“Rubbish. I don’t believe that.”

Something didn’t make sense. Realizing they were drawing attention standing in the middle of the hallway, Rachel grabbed Dorothy’s arm and steered her toward the Hyde Island Birding and Nature Festival side. “Let’s go back to the hotel. We can leave a message for Lark and Cecilia on the message board.”

At the entrance to the Nest, Rachel was surprised to find the festival in full swing. Both double doors were propped open, and the crowd perused the booths like nothing had happened. Peeking inside, Rachel could see that the crime scene had been cordoned off with makeshift walls, but nearly half of the vendors were open for business.