Free Death Shoots a Birdie by CHRISTINE L. GOFF Page A

University of Georgia. When he left academia, I stayed. Now he’s back, and he and I are colleagues again.” Saxby looked up and met Lark’s gaze “What can I say? I have a better office.”
    The evening wound down quickly after that. Everyone was scheduled to attend early-morning workshops, so after a little more banter, they bid Saxby goodnight. Dorothy had followed Cecilia into their room and had banged the door sharply. The adjacent room door remained latched.
    “I’m going to shower,” said Lark.
    While she was in the bathroom, Rachel tried calling Kirk.
    “You’ve reached Udall. I can’t come to the phone right now . . .”
    She listened through the message, allowing his rich baritone to embrace her, then hung up before the beep. He was, after all, in Sri Lanka. She had no idea what the time difference was, but if she wanted to connect with him her best bet was through e-mail.
    Setting her laptop up on the desk, she plugged it into the Ethernet and checked her messages. There were at least twenty from her office. She answered the important ones, then typed out a message to Kirk.
    You’ll never guess who I had drinks with tonight. Guy Saxby! He admits he has a new project, but refused to give any details. I’ll keep working on him. He seems enamored with Dorothy MacBean.
    She paused, and then added:
     
    Wish you were here. Rachel
     
    Hitting the Send button, she shut down the laptop and stretched out on the bed, listening to the beat of the shower. She allowed her mind to drift, and conjured an image of Kirk. In khaki shorts and Hawaiian shirt, he stood surrounded by the devastation of the tsunami, staring at the surf. She thought she heard him wondering how in the heck he could focus on the birds.
    “Rise and shine.”
    Rachel’s eyes fluttered open. What time was it?
    Dorothy stood over her, wearing a light pink shirt with a band of yellow warblers flitting across the chest. Exaggerated by the humidity, her hair curled tightly around her face like a clown’s wig, and accentuated her pale gray eyes. “We are going to be late.”
    “For what?” Rachel realized she was sprawled under the comforter wearing the same clothes she’d had on yesterday. Shoot. She must have fallen asleep. “What time is it?”
    “Seven o’clock. And you and I are scheduled for the warbler identification class this morning at eight, remember?”
    Rachel kicked off the blanket. “Where are Lark and Cecilia?”
    “At breakfast. They don’t have to be there until nine. Now get moving!”
    Rachel showered and dressed in record time. Toweling her hair dry, she threw on a pair of pants, a T-shirt, socks, tennis shoes, and grabbed a long-sleeved shirt from the dresser. Her backpack still held all the necessities—binoculars, field guide, sunscreen, tissues, and Chapstick.
    “Are you ready?” Dorothy called out, while Rachel was brushing her teeth.
    “Two minutes,” she answered. It took her that long to French braid her hair. “Done, with a half hour to spare.”
    “Good. Let’s go.”
    They pounded downstairs to the foyer, where a coffee kiosk beckoned. The scent of dark French roast coffee and warm Danishes mingled in the air. Rachel started toward the display, and Dorothy grabbed her arm.
    “You can get coffee at the convention center.”
    “Not good coffee.” Rachel glanced at her watch and stood her ground. “We have time.”
    Dorothy looked down at her feet, and Rachel’s morning fog lifted.
    “I get it,” she said. “You want to catch Guy Saxby before classes begin.”
    Dorothy snapped her head up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Admit it. You have a crush on him.”
    “I’m sixty-five. I am too old to have a crush on anyone, especially someone ten years my junior.”
    “You can’t fool me. Admit it. He is sort of sexy.”
    “Rachel!” Dorothy tried acting shocked, then broke down and giggled. “Okay, I’ll admit, he makes me think of 007.” Growing serious, her eyes darted