Killer Flock (Kate Fox Book 11), page 3
“Do you mind if Poupon rides in the back?” I asked Deenie.
She gave him an affectionate wink and waved in a “c’mon” way.
As usual, I had to tug him off the couch and coax him outside before we climbed in with Deenie. In her aging Suburban, Louise followed us along the dirt road and over the hill to the highway. The snow was piling up, maybe three inches so far, a wet, heavy, slick mess on the road that caused Deenie’s little car to slip around the turn east toward where Zoe had directed us.
I leaned toward the windshield into the swirl of white flakes. “There.” I pointed to the taillights of a white van. The nose of the vehicle rested into the borrow ditch. No one milled around in the snow. They must be sheltering inside.
Deenie slowed, and Louise pulled in behind us. As soon as we stopped, I popped out and hurried to the van. Flock Watch Tours was painted on the side.
The side door slid open, and a man, maybe mid-thirties, jumped out. Tall and lanky, he wore canvas pants, a fleece pullover, and hiking boots. “They told us the cops are on the way, but thanks for stopping.”
Our civilian clothes and “mature” vehicles must have confused him. I thrust out my hand. “We’re who they sent.” I introduced us as a few heads poked out of the door opening, looking like a family of racoons peeking from a den.
“I’m Ford. We’ve got some folks who might need extra help.”
A compact young woman, maybe in her late twenties, with bright almond-shaped eyes and black hair, shot from the van. She rattled off her demands like an automatic rifle spraying bullets. “We’re going to need seven rooms. Only one has to be a double, and that will need to be handicapped accessible because Mr. Levine can’t climb stairs. What’s the best restaurant in town? I don’t know if anyone has food allergies, but it’s always best to avoid gluten if possible.”
By the time she finished, Louise and Deenie had joined us. Poupon, not surprisingly, opted to stay in the car.
A man, probably early forties, climbed out the passenger door. He had a thick, dark beard and a forest-green beanie stretched across his head, leaving bushy hair escaping underneath. He stuck out his hand to me. He had the look of a small black bear, and I imagined his whole body covered in fur. “Sean Murray. We should get Mr. Levine someplace warm. He looks pale.”
I shook his hand. “Let’s load up the Suburban. Two people can ride in the back of the car.” I paused. “They need to be okay with a dog.”
A whip-thin older woman with a smooth silver bob eased herself from the sliding van door. She pulled a long cardigan close and folded her arms. “I’m wondering if we should rent a van and continue to Scottsbluff as planned. If we stay here…” She stopped and scanned the roadside and white landscape stretching into the waning afternoon. “Wherever here is, it could throw us off our schedule, and we’re due at a fundraiser in Seattle in two days. We are expected to be there, and it would be a great inconvenience if we don’t attend.”
Yeah, having just been to a fancy fundraiser in Denver a few weeks ago, I could attest that this woman looked like she’d fit right in with that posh crowd.
A Black man, I guessed in his fifties or early sixties, stepped out, stretched his back, and took a few tentative steps. He was over six feet tall, with an athletic build, and wore casual slacks and trekking shoes. “Mr. Levine really needs to get settled someplace. He’s shivering.”
Whoever this Mr. Levine was, they all seemed to be concerned about him.
The older lady looked rattled. “Oh, dear. We have to get him warmed up right away. Can you call the restaurant and tell them to prepare chicken soup, but please make sure it’s not too salty.”
Who were these people? It was as if they’d never ventured into rural Nebraska and had no idea we didn’t have twenty-four-seven services.
Louise poked her head into the door of the van. She immediately backed out as if chased by a dragon emerging from a cave.
An overweight man with thinning dark hair and a sour expression grunted as he lowered himself to the ground. He spoke to the tall, athletic guy, who was reaching his hands up in a stretch. “This is unacceptable. Where are we, even? Is the hotel close? I’ve been rattling around in that van since we left Omaha, and I’ve had about enough.” He searched the group and focused on the older woman. “There must be better ways to view the birds than this.” The emphasis on those words he’d shot at the woman seemed to have some significance lost on me.
The tall guy winced and slumped his shoulders. “It’s the weather. Shouldn’t be this cold and snowy this time of year.”
Can’t imagine where he got that idea. February in the Sandhills was often exactly like it was today. Prone to winter weather. In winter.
I labeled the complaining guy as Mr. Jerk, developing an immediate dislike for him. Even his face had a warped look, though I couldn’t put my finger on exactly how.
All of these people needed to get some perspective. I held up my hand. “A snowstorm isn’t unusual this time of year. If we can avoid the wind, it shouldn’t get too bad. I’ll call my cousin Stormy and see if he can tow the van to his shop and get it fixed in the morning, and you’ll be on your way.”
Mr. Jerk’s derisive smile looked a little oily. “Stormy? Ironic name. Is that like your dad-cousin-brother thing?”
I gave him a crusty look at his inbred joke. Not funny.
His scowl showed he was insulted I didn’t appreciate his humor. “Can he get us on the road before dark?”
Stormy was Dad’s cousin. He worked on cars, tractors, and haying equipment, sharpened ice skates and mower blades, and on slow afternoons, played pitch in his greasy back room with some of the old ranchers who’d retired and moved to town. “Since it’s pert near dark now, I’d say there’s not much chance. But I can guarantee he’ll get on it.” I threw in the “pert near” and added a slow accent just to poke at Mr. Jerk.
No cause for him to be surly, but he was anyway. “Tell him we need to get to Scottsbluff tonight. I’m sure we can make it worth his while.”
Whatever Mr. Jerk considered Stormy’s while was worth probably wouldn’t make any difference on a Saturday afternoon. If Stormy had the parts and could fix it, he’d get on it first thing in the morning—on his day off. If he didn’t have parts, well, we were a fair piece from anywhere, as I’d love to put it to Mr. Jerk, and it’d take at least an extra day. But I ignored him, because that’s what I figured he deserved.
Despite being outside in the vastness of the snowy Sandhills, Mr. Jerk seemed to take up more than his fair share of space. He zeroed in on me. “And you’re who? The emergency response people are supposed to be here already. Stick around in case we’ll need transport to the hotel.”
Louise had apparently had enough of these people and their demands. “There’s an old man in that van who needs to get someplace warm and dry.” She pointed to the bearded guy and the tall man. “You help him into the rig.” To Ford and the younger woman with black hair now dotted with snow, she said, “You two grab the luggage.” To the older woman, “Get out of the cold. Sit in the passenger seat.”
Ford looked confused and turned to me. “Is there…? Where are we going?”
“We can put you up in the schoolhouse. There are only two rooms in the hotel, and they’re above the café in town. So, stairs. Double beds. And drafty windows. Trust me, no one wants to stay there.”
“Did you say schoolhouse?” the black-haired bullet of a woman asked. “As in one-room school?”
Sheesh. While we had plenty of those around, Grand County Consolidated could accommodate up to two hundred students. Not that we ever had more than a hundred and fifty at a time, counting the town’s grade school. “It has three circular sections with about five or six classrooms in each, a cafeteria, and even a gym with a stage. I think we can house seven people for one night.” My polite tone had a bit of an edge.
Mr. Jerk boomed out, “It’s a frickin’ miracle there’s a restaurant in this wilderness. I don’t suppose they’ll have a decent wine selection, but maybe we can get a steak. I’ve seen more cows than birds on this trip, so I assume they have beef.”
The young woman corrected me. “Eight.”
I glanced around the group, and counting the old man, I’d only seen seven.
The black-haired woman pointed at the folks gathering snowflakes on their heads and started to name them.
I concentrated, since most of them hadn’t given names yet.
She started with the youngish man. “Ford, the tour guide.” He flashed a peace sign my way, his sandy hair wet and straggly. “And I’m Olivia Choy.”
Olivia motioned to the classy elderly woman. “Joyce Levine.”
Joyce pierced me with a stare, as if acknowledging a servant.
Olivia tilted her head toward the bearded man in the green beanie, and her voice flattened as if she didn’t care for him. “Sean Murray.”
He reached out again to shake my hand, even though he’d already done it.
The tall man raised a hand in a wave as she introduced him. “Aaron Fields.” She indicated the corpulent guy. “Aaron works for Jesse Gold.”
Ah, that’s why Mr. Jerk—uh, Jesse Gold—had jumped down his throat earlier.
Gold sneered. “Do we really need to go through this right now? I’m cold and hungry and have had it with this whole debacle.”
With a nod to everyone in general, I said, “Nice to meet you.” I agreed with Gold that we needed to get this show on the road. “The other two?”
Olivia turned to the van, where Deenie and another woman were helping an older man onto the side of the road.
Joyce hurried over to them. “Get him in the car before he gets wet.” She bent inside the van and grabbed a fleece throw, tossing it over his head as you might cover an infant in bad weather.
Olivia indicated the group moving steadily toward the Suburban, where Louise stood ready to open the back door. “That’s Kenneth Levine, Joyce’s husband. We’ll be lucky if he survives this trip.” There wasn’t a whole lot of compassion seasoning her voice. “And Anna Ortiz.”
The last person had an unlined face with smooth caramel skin and large dark eyes. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone and appeared to be one of those people who tried to take up the least amount of space possible.
Ford had finished transferring the luggage by the time Olivia wrapped up the introductions.
Jesse Gold stomped to the Suburban and lumbered into the passenger side. I figured that would irk Louise, since she’d already assigned that position to Joyce.
Aaron, the tall Black man who looked like he played a lot of tennis, and Sean, the bearded guy in the green beanie, ducked in and crawled to the third seat in back, where Louise’s ten-year-old twin boys usually rode. I figured the two men might discover any number of toys, sports equipment, and dropped snacks.
Joyce sat close to Kenneth, fussing over the blanket. Anna took the place next to Joyce and stared ahead, her hands in her lap.
Louise pulled herself into the driver’s seat while Olivia, Ford, and I walked to Deenie’s car. Olivia pulled open the rear door and jumped back.
I’d forgotten about Poupon. I didn’t groom him with the traditional cut, so he looked a little like an eighties rock star with hair fluffed on his head and ears mimicking a wild mullet. I was used to him and had only seen him get aggressive once, when his favorite newborn friend was in danger, but I could understand why he might be off-putting to some. Especially if they didn’t like dogs, which was always a litmus test for me.
Olivia studied him for a second.
“I’ll ride in back,” I said. “Poupon isn’t mean, but you don’t have to sit next to him if you’d rather not.”
It seemed Olivia made her own assessment. “I’m fine. Just didn’t expect him.”
Ford had opened his door and looked a little less convinced. “Can I ride up front?” Poor guy didn’t seem steeped in authority and was a little light on the take-charge spirit. He was clearly out of his depth leading a bunch of people and dealing with a car accident in the most rural of places with a snowstorm coming on.
I swung my arm in invitation, and we all piled in Deenie’s warm car and followed Louise the three miles to the other edge of Hodgekiss and the schoolhouse. It used to be the high school, but when asbestos abatement and maintenance on the elementary school that had been built in the early 1900s became too much, they’d co-opted a portion of the newer school, then built a fabulous playground on the north lawn, and after twenty years, everyone seemed to accept the situation.
Poupon sat straight, disdain writ large on his face as he stared out the windshield.
Olivia draped her arm across his back, and her fingers teased his curls. She spoke around his head. “Where is the town? Do we need to make reservations at the restaurant?”
Deenie broke into a grin, the first I’d seen since she showed up at my house. Whatever was going on with her and Dad, I hoped she’d get back to smiling again soon. “We just drove through it.”
Olivia twisted to look out the window. “That one street was town?”
It wasn’t like Sandhillers didn’t know how the rest of the world worked, we simply preferred to do things our own way. Even if there was a better way to do something, change came slowly to our neck of the prairie. “The Long Branch is closed for a couple of days because the owners have gone to visit their son and grandkids in Kansas City. But even if they were open, they’ve never taken a reservation in their lives.”
I punched Stormy’s number from my favorites. When I was sheriff, it was good to have the local repairmen at my fingertips. The phone rang once, picked up, then hung up. That’s how I knew I had the right number.
“Sorry,” he said after he’d connected the second time I called. “This darned phone. I can’t figure it out.”
He’d been saying that for three years. He’d probably acquired two new upgraded phones in that time. I gave him the rundown on the van and told him that a flock of bird watchers were nesting at the schoolhouse, so we’d appreciate if he could get after it quickly.
He sounded less than thrilled. “It’s a bugger out there, Katie. You say they need it tomorrow?”
“There’s an older man who probably shouldn’t be sleeping on a cot. So, yeah. I can run to Broken Butte or North Platte for parts if you need.” I didn’t want to do that. Not on a snowy, cold winter night. But my comfort didn’t seem the most important thing right then.
My offer probably shamed him, because he came back with, “I’ll get out there before dark and see what’s up. I seen Newt and Earl at Fredrickson’s earlier, so maybe they can help get it loaded on the flatbed.”
That arranged, I hung up with thanks. I had a good view of Ford’s face as he stared out the window. It had a definite panic patina. “Wha-wha-what are we going to do for food?”
He didn’t seem like the kind of guy I’d want in charge of a trip. But thankfully, Olivia, though much younger, seemed ready to take over. “We’re going to a school, and Kate said there’s a cafeteria. Maybe we can get one of the school cooks to come in. I’m sure the tour company would pay for their time.” She emphasized “tour company” in a weird way.
“We’ll figure something out,” I said. “We wouldn’t let you go hungry.”
I hadn’t been around this band of whiners long, but I was already worried getting them fed would be the least of our troubles.
4
Dean Barkley was at the school when we pulled up, so I left Poupon in the back of Deenie’s car. With all his hair, it would take some time before he got chilled, and napping in the back seat of a car was his favorite thing to do. He’d been deprived since I’d been recalled, and I only had an unlicensed pickup for ranch work, and Elvis, with bucket seats.
In his early seventies, Barkley wore the same style of navy blue knit pants he’d worn during the Bush administration—the first one—when he’d taken the job as principal. We’d always called him Principal Barkley, in a slightly mocking way, so it was hard, as an adult, to refer to him as Dean. He’d been at the high school so long no one could imagine the place without his dour presence.
The school had been built in the early seventies, in what was ultra-modern at the time. Three circular classroom sections made the structure look like a clover from the air. A hallway orbited each of the three sections, kind of like a professional sports arena. The sections all converged in the front hallway that led to the office, cafeteria, and access to the gym. Metal gates could be pulled down to lock each section from the others. A round room, called the pod, was located in the center of each classroom cluster with doors that opened to the classrooms. This was a teachers’ lounge and planning area, as well as supplies storage. Each contained a bathroom, mini fridge, and coffeemaker.
Dean Barkley huddled in a puffer coat and an HHS knit cap over his nearly bald head. He directed us away from the front doors to a side door in the east classroom section. The door was recessed, making it the perfect place to smoke in a rainstorm. Which plenty of students did, and some teachers as well. Unlike most populated American cities, there was free-range smoking in the Sandhills.
Wisely, Principal Barkley had chosen to give the birders the section that included the library and had a reading area with a couple of comfy chairs and couches.
While Anna and Joyce helped Kenneth up the snowy walkway, followed by Jesse Gold, who scowled at the sky and everything in general, the rest of us gathered the luggage and hauled it in.
The metal door banged closed behind us, and we bunched in the dim hallway lit with security lights recessed under frosted plexiglass every twenty feet along the ceiling. Just enough light to make passage down the hall doable, but dark enough to create scary shadows. This corner of the school was out of the way from the front, where visitors entered to attend ball games, plays, and events in the auditorium, and where parents zipped in to drop off forgotten lunches and homework or to pick up a sick kid. Or, in the case of the Foxes, escorted a student home who’d caused a ruckus of one kind or another.
