Death Takes a Gander (13 page)

“What’s the count up to?”

Betty’s pen paused in midstroke, and the woman looked up. “Sixty-seven.”

About half of the banquet attendees. Angela wondered how many lawsuits had already been filed. She was stunned by the number of cases. Were the biodegradable properties of the shot causing the toxin to hit the bloodstream faster?

“May I use your phone book?” she asked.

“Elk Park?”

“Greater Metro.”

Betty clunked a thick volume on the counter. Angela thanked her, picked it up, and moved to a chair. Settling onto the cushioned seat, she flipped open the tome and pored over the index. The effort proved a bust. There were no categories for shooting ranges, firing ranges, or gun clubs. She did find one listing under “Trap and Skeet Ranges,” but the address placed it near downtown Denver, too far away from a water source.

Strike one
.

Returning the book to the desk, she thanked Betty again, then waited to be buzzed through. Walking the hall toward Eric’s room, she heard Ian’s voice in her head.
Work the problem
.

It was time to come at it from a different direction. What had Eric figured out about the poisonings? He must have come up with something. What other reason would someone have for shoving him through the ice?

From the time she found him until he was transported, she couldn’t remember anyone doing a thorough search of his clothes. Maybe there was a clue in one of his pockets, something his would-be assassin or the firefighters missed. It was worth taking a gander.

She nodded to the guard at the door and stepped through the doorway. The bright white glow of the morning was gone. Now, with the shades drawn and the lights dimmed, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust.

Lark sat beside the bed, her back to the door. Eric lay still, his face ashen against the pillow, his brown hair splayed out, his eyes closed. Angela imagined him sleeping, though his condition had never officially changed. He was stable but comatose.

“He looks better,” she said, hoping she sounded encouraging.

“He’s going to be fine,” Lark replied, keeping her eyes focused on her boyfriend’s face.

Angela refrained from comment and sidled over to the closet. A large puddle seeped out from the crack under the door. Was it coming from Eric’s wet clothes?

Keeping one eye on Lark, Angela eased open the closet. Someone had hung his clothes up to dry, and the cuffs of his pants dripped onto the floor. She checked the pockets of his khakis, his wrinkled shirt, and his heavy coat, and came up empty-handed. Not even a wallet.

Then she thought of another place to try. Some of the new uniforms had hidden inside pockets, like the lapel pocket on a man’s sports jacket. Her hand sought the slit. Her fingers struck paydirt.

“Will you take me home?”

Angela jumped at the sound of Lark’s voice and jerked her hand back.

“What are you doing?” Lark asked.

Caught red-handed, Angela opted for the truth. “I was looking for clues.”

“Did you find any?”

“Maybe.” Angela reached back in and pulled out the prize. It was a small plastic bag stuffed with two small plastic containers. Rectangular in shape, the containers measured three inches by one-quarter inch by one-half inch in size. A notation had been scrawled on the front of the bag in black felt marker. Eric had been collecting evidence.

“What is it?”

“The note says he found these in the debris left at the edge of the ice in the area where Frakus had plowed the dead geese.” Angela held up the bag.

“They’re fishing-sinker containers!”

“Maybe that’s why he was down on the ice?” Angela said. “Maybe he was searching for clues.”

The question is, who would have known he was there? And why would they care that he’d picked up two fishing-sinker containers?

Covyduck didn’t mention anything about Eric’s heading down to the lake. Had he called and said something to one of the volunteers? Then again, it was possible someone had seen him arrive at the lake. Frakus. Tauer or Nate. Or any one of the fishermen camped out in the parking lot.

“I’ll have them run for prints,” Angela said. “With luck, we’ll turn up something.”

Lark stopped beside the bed on the way out, and by the time the two of them reached the truck, the day was spent. Stars dotted the eggplant-colored sky, and light twinkled from the streetlamps.

Angela stuffed the plastic bag into the glove box and started the truck while Lark climbed into the passenger seat and laid her head back. Ten minutes later, they pulled up in front of the carriage house next to the Drummond.

“Here you go.”

Lark sat up, taking a moment to get her bearings.

“Damn!” she said, once she realized where they were.

“What?” The stricken expression on Lark’s face caused Angela’s blood pressure to rise. “Did you forget something?”

“I forgot to cancel the EPOCH meeting.” The panic in her voice seemed out of proportion to the problem.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Lark. I’m sure they’ll understand when you don’t show up.”

“You’re missing the point, Angela. The meeting’s here.” Lark waved her hand toward the house, and the lights in the living room winked back. “Come in with me?”

“No.” Joining was not something Angela did. Not even the Brownies, in second grade, with all of her little friends. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not much of a joiner.”

“You don’t have to make it official. It’s just… I could use the backup.”

Lark’s choice of words struck at Angela’s core. The last person who’d asked her for backup had wound up dead.

Lark took a firm
grip on Angela’s arm, screwed up her courage, and managed a weak smile for the EPOCH members assembled in the kitchen. She felt a little guilty pushing Angela to stay. Mostly she was grateful for the support.

“There you are,” Dorothy said. The older woman was seated at the kitchen table. Two bright dots of rouge colored her cheeks. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“You look like you could use some tea, dear” Cecilia said, clattering a tea cup on the table. “Have you eaten anything?”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” Lark said, then on second thought, she turned to Angela.

“I’m fine.”

“Oh my, you girls have to eat. Here, have some banana bread.” Cecilia shoved a plate toward an empty place in the center of the table. Everyone had a plate in front of them. Andrew Henderson was the only one eating.

“Opal made it,” he said, jerking his head toward his wife. Opal grinned, her skin tight on her bones. Harry sat on a stool at the breakfast bar, and Gertie reigned at the head of the table, her plump arms folded across her chest, a sour expression pinching her lips.

Angela perched next to Harry. Lark took a place at the table.

“How’s Eric?” Harry asked.

“He’s going to be fine,” Lark answered, forcing herself to believe it. She had to keep hoping.

As if proving the point, Angela piped up, “He’s still in a coma. The doctor says it’s too soon to know.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have invited her in, thought Lark, glaring at her. Angela refused to make eye contact.

“We found a clue as to why he was on the ice,” Lark said.

This time it was Angela who glared.

“Tell them.”

Angela told them about the fishing-sinker containers. “I’ll give them to Crandall for fingerprinting, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. There are over two hundred fishermen out there this weekend.”

Andrew shifted in his chair, and the wood groaned. “Any word on the banquet guests?”

Lark felt the blood drain from her face. She’d been at the hospital to see Eric and had forgotten to ask.

Angela carried the moment. “The nurse told me most of them were getting better.”

“Whew!” Dorothy said. “That’s a relief.”

“What about the geese?” Lark asked. If the people were improving, maybe the birds were too.

“We lost all but sixty-two,” Dorothy said.

Harry looked surprised. “That’s better than I expected. By the time symptoms of lead poisoning present themselves in waterfowl, it’s usually too late. I figured we’d save ten percent at best.”

Lark’s mind flashed to the banquet guests. Did the same percentages apply to humans? “It’s possible it’s not lead that’s causing the problem.”

Andrew paused mid-bite. “What are you talking about?”

Lark explained what they’d learned at Covyduck’s office about the biodegradable property of the shot. “It’s possible it’s some other substance that’s making the birds sick.”

A frenzied discussion followed.

“Are you saying it’s some sort of natural product?” Andrew asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Angela said. “We’re waiting on the lab analysis.”

Lark was wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.

Finally Dorothy chimed in. “Whatever’s causing it, the treatment appears to be working. Let’s not upset the apple cart by going off half-cocked.”

Mixed metaphors aside, Dot had a point. Except for the one mention on the report, all of the other evidence supported the lead poisoning theory. And certainly the fact that the lead poisoning treatment appeared to be working stood for something.

“Besides, regardless how many we save,” Andrew said, “Harry’s right. The secondary symptoms are the concern now. We would have been better off putting them down.”

The words struck Lark dumb. He wasn’t suggesting they quit now, was he? She opened her mouth to challenge him, when Gertie stepped in.

“What a horrible thing to say.”

“But true,” he insisted. “For one thing, the amount of money we’ve spent is phenomenal.”

“It’s not about money,” Gertie said, puckering her lips even more.

Lark’s eyes burned. Hot tears caused Andrew to swim. “I refuse to give up,” she said, her thoughts flashing to Eric. “Not after the price we’ve paid.”

Harry climbed off his stool and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Lark tried to find her voice and failed.

“Oh my,” Cecilia said. “Maybe we should have this meeting some other time?”

Angela stirred from her seat and took a flanking position on Lark’s opposite side. “As long as the geese are alive, we need to keep trying.”

It took a moment for her words to register.

“Why’s that?” Andrew asked. “I don’t see U.S. Fish and Wildlife footing the bill.”

A murmur circled the table, indicating the EPOCH members agreed with him there.

Bolstered, he continued. “Besides, do we help the geese live in order to suffer a worse fate? What about the permanent damage—reproductive problems, increased predation rates?”

Lark couldn’t help but make the comparison between the geese and Eric. “Quitting is not an option. We’re not giving up.”

The strength of her words stunned even her. She blotted her eyes with her flannel shirt, and the smell of hospital antiseptic triggered another bout of tears.

Angela squeezed her shoulder. “Dorothy, are any of the surviving geese improving?”

“Quite a few.” She cast a hard look at Andrew. “In fact, some are nearly as good as new.”

“We got to them early,” Harry said, refilling Lark’s mug and redunking her tea bag. “That’s the key.”

Lark focused on Eric. Had Angela gotten to him in time? How long had he been in the water? She’d heard estimates of everywhere from twenty minutes to an hour. Still, there were cold-water drowning victims, dead longer, who had emerged to live normal lives.

The clock in the living room struck seven.

Again, it was Angela’s voice that broke through. “Any idea how many of the symptomatic birds had shot present in their gizzards?”

Dorothy’s answer was instant. “Two-thirds.”

“The two-thirds that are dying,” Andrew said, reaching for another piece of banana bread.

Opal swatted his hand.

“Shut up,” Gertie said. “You made your point.”

Lark wanted to hug her.

“What about leads on the source of the shot?” Gertie asked. “Do we have any?”

“No.” Angela gestured toward Lark, then herself. “We figure it came from a designated hunting area, more than likely a hunt club or skeet ranch. I checked the yellow pages, but there are no listings. I’m hoping the secretary of state’s office will have some sort of a registry.”

Gertie looked skeptical. “Most hunting clubs are privately owned. Would they even have to register with the secretary of state?”

“If they’re an actual club, they would,” Cecilia said. “But you may find it’s hard to locate them in the records.” A retired CPA, she was likely to know.

“What about pinpointing direction?” suggested Dorothy. “Can we figure out which way they were flying?”

She might be on to something
, thought Lark.

“Do any of you remember the night the geese came in?” Angela asked suddenly.

“Sure,” Lark said. “We all do. That was the night of the big storm.”

“That’s what I thought.” Angela walked back to the breakfast bar and dragged her stool closer to the table. “When I was in college, I was asked to document a pair of trumpeter swans. From what we could gather, my lab partner and I determined that, after being blown off course by a storm, the cob was knocked down because of wing icing, and the pen followed.”

“And… ?” Dorothy said, making an impatient motion with her hand.

“I see where you’re going,” Harry said, pounding on Lark’s shoulder in excitement. “Lark, do you have a map?”

“Try the phone drawer.” She pointed to a wide drawer under the counter, the most disorganized spot in her house. Inside, scissors, pens, pencils, rubber bands, and notepaper vied for space alongside twist ties, paper clips, and a few loose screws. “I doubt it’s very detailed.”

“Anything will do,” replied Harry, digging in the mess. “Voilà!” He held up the prize, then spread it in the center of the kitchen table, and pointed to Elk Lake. “If we know the direction and the speed of the wind, we can use the information, factored with the distance geese fly in a day, and get a good idea of where the flock overnighted prior to landing here.”

“Who among us knows how fast the wind was blowing that day?” Andrew asked.

Everyone shook their heads.

“We can find out on the Internet,” suggested Gertie. “You can look up anything there.”

Lark headed for her office, the second most disorganized spot in the house. The cramped, cluttered room stood off the kitchen hallway. Used primarily for storage, the desk stood buried in paper destined for the four-drawer filing cabinet in the corner. A bookcase crammed with tattered paperbacks, and topped with a picture of her mother, covered a hip-high area of the back wall. A small south-facing window allowed light to seep in from the overflow parking lot.

Flipping on the desk lamp, she booted up the computer and Googled the weather. The information popped right up. Scrolling down, she found Wednesday’s record.

“It says the wind blew thirty to forty miles per hour out of the northeast,” she hollered, hoping they could hear her in the kitchen.

“Great,” answered Harry. “Now, how far do geese travel in a day?”

Lark switched her search but didn’t come up with an answer.

“Who knows?” she said, returning to the kitchen in defeat.

“I’ll bet it’s far,” Dorothy said, pinching off a corner of a slice of banana bread and stuffing it into her mouth.

“Migrating Aleutian Canada geese fly over two thousand miles between takeoff and touchdown,” Andrew said.

Opal nodded her head. Angela wrinkled her nose.

“You know that off the top of your head?” she asked.

“I read an article about them in one of the birding magazines.”

“What about lessers or Richardson’s, then?”

“They weren’t part of the article.”

“Let’s say one hundred miles,” interrupted Harry, pulling a calculator out of his breast pocket. “It seems to me migrating geese fly between one hundred seventy and five hundred miles a day, but these geese would have reached their wintering grounds. They’re stationary, for the most part. Any traveling they do is for exploration and to search for food. Let’s factor using a hundred.” He punched in some numbers, then stuffed the calculator back in his pocket. “Do you have a compass?”

Lark wobbled her hand. “North, south… ?”

He shook his head. “Math.”

“Again, maybe in the office.” She padded back down the hall. The center desk drawer coughed up a child-sized version. “Will this work?”

“It’s perfect.” Harry checked the gauge on the map, then adjusted the arc. Placing the pointed end of the tool on Elk Lake, he drew a wide circle. “Factoring in all the variables, I’d say it’s safe to assume the geese were somewhere inside this circle.”

Angela pointed to Barr Lake. “Look, it falls within the circle. I knew it.” She told the others her theory about how Ian’s death and Eric’s accident were related.

“I hate to be the wet blanket,” Andrew said, “but the swan could have flown in there from anywhere.”

Lark studied the map. “That’s true, Andrew, but it was there, and it suffered from symptoms similar to the geese.” She reminded them about Covyduck’s report. “Based on the vegetation, we know they fed on wetland grasses and corn. That knocks out the western region and limits the eastern range by crops.”

“And we end up with what?” Gertie asked.

“A swath of land in Adams, Weld, and Morgan counties,” Harry said. He scratched the back of his neck and sat down. “It’s a lot of ground to cover.”

“Maybe if we split up,” Cecilia suggested.

There were miles of roads to cover, the task daunting. Still, Lark’s need to do something overwhelmed logic. “I’m game.”

Angela planted her hands on her thighs and leaned out over the map, staring down. “What if we searched by air?”

“Can we do that?” Cecilia asked. She glanced around at the others.

“Why not?” Angela said.

“The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service conducted a similar investigation in Wisconsin,” Harry said, showing he’d done some research. “By flying over, the agents were able to pinpoint a shooting club in the general vicinity of Lake Geneva that fit the criteria they were looking for. As it turned out, the wetlands behind the skeet stations were contaminated, and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service was able to force a cleanup.”

“I don’t see why I couldn’t justify doing the same thing here.”

Andrew snorted. “With as much grief as you got over paying for one necropsy, what makes you think your boss will bend over and let you charter a plane?”

“As much as I hate to admit it, he has a point,” Gertie said.

“We can’t just give up,” Lark said, realizing she was letting emotion drive her actions. “If U.S. Fish and Wildlife won’t pay, I will.”

All eyes turned on her.

“It can’t cost that much to rent a plane for part of a day,” she said. “Besides, maybe the answers will save the Drummond. Then I can write it off.”

“Are you planning to go up with her?” Dorothy asked. The alarm in her voice reached the high decibels.

Lark shrugged. She hadn’t really thought that far ahead. “Any reason I shouldn’t?”

“One big one,” Harry said. “You’re scared to death of heights.”

Just because she panicked the time Rachel Stanhope took her climbing. They had hung off the side of a cliff for god’s sake. Besides, she’d flown in jets before.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Listen to Harry and Dot, dear,” Cecilia said. “A small plane is different. My Jimmy—”

“I’ll be fine!” The last thing she felt like hearing right now were stories about Cecilia’s late husband, Jimmy. He’d been missing in action since the time of the Wright brothers.

Angela looked skeptical. “I’m not sure having passengers is a good idea.”

Lark felt her heart bump in her chest. “Look, if I’m paying, I’m going.”

Angela raised her eyebrows.

Lark softened her tone. “And anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to have another pair of eyes scanning the ground.”