Free The Kiskadee of Death by Jan Dunlap

Rosalie hated picking produce and Pearl wanted to be an electrical engineer. Somehow, those little pieces of knowledge were not coming together in a momentous way to let me know what I could actually do for either of them. Let’s be honest here—my offer was one of those automatic responses you make in times of extreme awkwardness. You never expect anyone to come back at you with a reply.
    But Rosalie did.
    She told me what I could do.
    â€œYou can find out why your friend killed my Birdy,” she softly said over her granddaughter’s head. Then, her voice like steel, she added, “and I will take it from there.”

 
    Chapter Six
    S he said, ‘my’ Birdy?”
    Luce and I were on our way to the Alamo Inn in Alamo, which was only a short drive from the Valley Nature Center in Weslaco. After Rosalie’s unexpected suggestion for my assistance, I’d left the women, taken Luce by the arm, escorted her out to our car, and shared my brief conversation with the grieving naturalist.
    â€œYes,” I said. “I remember that the chief said something this morning about Rosalie and the deceased being close, but I guess I hadn’t really considered how close they might be. Now I’m thinking very close.”
    * * *
    I pulled into a parking spot along the curb near the side door of an imposing historic white brick building. The door was a deep red, and off to its side hung a sign that read Alamo Inn Bed & Breakfast.
    â€œThis must be it,” I said, looking up through the windshield at the two-story building. With its straight lines and no-nonsense architecture, the Inn looked like a bank or land office on the set of an Old West movie. When I’d searched for the address on my phone, a brief description had come up noting that the Alamo Inn was housed in the original 1919 building of the Alamo Land and Sugar Company.
    â€œI suppose the owners of the inn have the place furnished with antiques,” I said to Luce, checking out the potted plants and antique bench beside the red door. “Eddie told me this place books up years ahead of time. He said he was lucky they had a suite available for him on such short notice.”
    Luce laid her hand on my right arm and waited for me to look at her.
    â€œBobby, you don’t really think Eddie is involved in this, do you?” Concern had filled her voice, along with a note of fondness for my old friend.
    â€œOf course not,” I assured her, then on second thought, amended my answer.
    â€œI mean,” I said, “I don’t think Eddie killed Birdy, but the fact that his bottle of Aquavit was found beside a dead man does make me think he’s somehow involved. Not like he’s responsible for what happened,” I clarified in response to the alarm in my wife’s eyes. “But somehow, Eddie’s tripped into something he probably shouldn’t have.”
    Luce removed her hand and nodded. “You think we can help him?”
    â€œI think we have to,” I replied. “Hell may have no fury like a woman scorned, but a woman bent on vengeance can’t be far behind. I know I wouldn’t want to find myself in Rosalie’s bad graces. She sounded scary. If Eddie wants to make it back home to Minnesota after he finishes this consulting job with the border patrol, he’d better come up fast with proof that he’s completely innocent of Birdy Johnson’s murder, or he’ll have a certain petite naturalist hunting him down.”
    On that note, we climbed out of my SUV, and I tried the doorknob of the red door. It was locked.
    â€œBob! Over here!” Eddie called.
    I turned around to see Eddie walking in our direction from across the street.
    â€œI’m in the garden suites,” he said, hitching a thumb over his shoulder. “Come on over and meet the boys.”
    Luce and I crossed the street and the parking lot that lay between the historic inn and its newer annex.