Die, Die Birdie (A Bird Lover's Mystery, Band 1) - Softcover

Ripley, J.R.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1496718542 ISBN 13: 9781496718549

Verlag: Kensington, 2018

Inhaltsangabe

For Amy Simms, hatching a birding shop in her hometown of Ruby Lake, North Carolina, hasn’t exactly been a breeze. But could a deadly discovery clip her wings for good?
 
It’s just days before Amy plans to open Birds & Bees on the first floor of her creaky Victorian house, but delayed seed shipments have prevented the fledging owner from stocking her shelves. And it doesn’t help that Amy’s best friend and business partner is out of town indefinitely. With locals skeptical about the niche shop taking flight, the last thing Amy needs now is a dead man in her storeroom—or for a crotchety tenant to catch her holding a bloody birdfeeder hook over his body . . .
 
Pigeonholed as a leading murder suspect by police and lacking a solid alibi, Amy’s delving into the victim’s ugly past and buzzing around Ruby Lake for clues on his killer . . . before she ends up like so many of her beloved feathery friends—trapped behind bars!

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

J.R. Ripley is the pen name of Glenn Meganck, the critically acclaimed author of the Tony Kozol mystery series. As a member of the Mystery Writers of America, he has chaired the Edgar committee for Best Original Paperback novel and served on the Best Short Story Committee. As a member of the International Association of Crime Writers, he has served on the Hammett Award committee for Best Novel. When not writing books, Glenn is writing songs, often singing them to the consternation of his audience and neighbors, or involved in one of his many passions, none of which have involved any of the dead bodies that seem to keep cropping up in his mysteries. For more information about him, visit www.jrripley.net.

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Die, Die Birdie

By J.R. Ripley

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

Copyright © 2016 J.R. Ripley
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4967-1854-9

CHAPTER 1

"Welcome to Ruby Lake. Relax ... Enjoy!" read the sign at the edge of the road.

Two perfectly nice sentiments, but I was perfectly unable to indulge in either of them at the moment.

I whizzed by the sign into town and kept on driving. It was late and the night was falling down on me like the final curtain of a closing Broadway musical. There was so much to do — too much to do. This couldn't be happening. I was two days from opening my new and first business, Birds & Bees. And, so far, it seemed like all I had was a hornet's nest of troubles.

Relax and enjoy were mere dreams at this point. The stuff of fantasies. Like imagining myself starring in a big Broadway musical when I can't even carry a tune.

Why couldn't I relax? Why couldn't I enjoy?

First, my major birdseed supplier hadn't shown up. When I'd called the distributor down in Charlotte, I was told the driver's truck had broken down somewhere between here and there. It may as well have been Timbuktu and Sri Lanka for all the good that bit of information was doing me. How do you sell bird food and birding supplies when you have an insufficient amount of one and none of the other?

Second, my best friend and partner in this little enterprise, Kim, had had to leave suddenly for Florida to attend to her mother, who'd broken her hip in a spill outside the swimming pool of her retirement complex. Kim had been gone a week and I wasn't sure if she'd be back in time for our pending grand opening. My last voicemails and texts to her had gone unanswered. Not a good sign.

At least the rain had stopped.

I shot a glance in the rearview mirror. I took comfort in the fact that I at least had a batch of brand-new handcrafted bluebird houses to add to my understocked shelves. I'd purchased them from Aaron Maddley, a local farmer who was a woodworker on the side. He did good work too. The darling houses had gingerbread roofs, copper trim, and were each hand- painted pale blue. The birdhouses ought to sell well. I couldn't wait to get to the shop and set them up. Finding Aaron had been a prize.

I'd had a pair of bluebirds hanging around an old birdhouse at the edge of my front porch. The pine house was rotted and warped. I vowed to replace it with one of Aaron's new cedar ones as soon as I had the chance. Not only were they far more aesthetically pleasing, it would be good advertising. What customer wouldn't want one once they got a look at it? Especially if my bluebirds decided to create a nest.

As I pulled up to the curb outside my fledgling shop, I caught sight of Gertie Hammer walking past. She had wrapped herself up in a puffy, lime- green, plus-size, three-quarter-length down jacket that made her look like a big green shrub with a cold, holly-berry-red face. Her lips were pulled tight and her mitten-covered fists were balled up even tighter. She wasn't my biggest fan. She'd sold me the rundown old three-story Victorian Queen Anne–style house thinking she'd gotten the best of me.

Now I was turning the place into a store for bird lovers, bee lovers, and all things nature. If I was lucky, business would thrive, my love life would spark to life, and I'd be getting the best of Gertie Hammer. Our families have a long history. Think Thirty Years' War, western North Carolina style.

I wiggled my fingers in her direction. I knew that would get her goat. And it did. The woman practically bleated as she turned on her heel and headed across the street to Ruby's Diner, whose slogan was Eat Here, Get Gas. It was an old joke, but then Moire Leora Breeder, the café's owner, is an old jokester — well, older than me by a few years anyway.

Besides, the diner really had been a gas station originally, so it made sense. Moire had added the slogan to the old diner once she'd bought it from the retiring owner. Other than that, things hadn't changed much. The sign with the big green dinosaur on it still stood proudly in the parking lot at the edge of the street. Moire Leora did serve up her own take on a bronto burger as an homage to the corporate apatosaurus.

Moire Leora wouldn't be too happy about Gertie showing up at the diner. When Gertie ate in Moire's place, everybody else got indigestion.

I parked and opened the back door of the minivan. She's a white Kia Sedona with tan upholstery, what little there is left of it. The minivan's a bit of a dinosaur herself. The old girl's got 117,000-plus miles on her, but I'm sure she'd be good for plenty more — like 118,000, fingers crossed. The aging Sedona may not be the sweetest-looking vehicle on the road, but it suited my requirements, with plenty of room for everything I needed to haul, both in and out.

I glanced up toward the second floor of Birds & Bees. Sure enough, Esther Pilaster, Esther Pester, as I liked to call her — in private, of course — was peeking out her window.

Typical. Esther was my renter, at least for another nine months. She'd unfortunately come with the property and her lease wouldn't be up till the end of the year. I couldn't wait. The woman could teach a class in Busybody 101.

I walked up the short, uneven pink brick path and climbed the broad steps to the porch leading to the double French doors. I wasn't surprised to find one of them unlocked. With so many distractions, I'd been forgetting that a lot lately. Besides, Esther Pester sometimes used the front door, though I'd told her time and time again to stick to the rear entrance. Front for customers, rear for renters. I preached it over and over to the woman like a mantra. But it had always been in vain. You'd think she'd learn to listen. You'd think I'd learn to save my breath.

Maybe the Pester needed new hearing aid batteries. Maybe she needed a whole new hearing aid. Maybe I'd take up a collection for her.

The scent of fresh gardenias met me. I'd set two vases full of the flowers in the front window just that morning. I had purchased the gardenias from Francoise Early. Mrs. Early is a seventy-five-year-old widow with the greenest thumb I've ever seen. She's a prim woman with silvery hair, a fleshy nose on whose tip a pair of glasses is normally perched, a ruddy complexion, and a pleasantly plump figure. For all I know, she's secretly married to Santa Claus, because she looks exactly like I'd pictured Mrs. Claus when I was growing up.

Francoise Early lives at the edge of town on a large piece of property with its own greenhouse. We'd worked out an arrangement where I'd carry some of her plants in Birds & Bees. Francoise had even agreed to cultivate some of the specialty plants I wanted to make available to my customers, plants to attract and support various species of birds and bees throughout the seasons.

I sighed with contentment as I hit the light switch near the door, but nothing happened. Oh great. I could feel my contentment leaving like the tide. Did I have any spare lightbulbs? No. I did have some spare daffodil bulbs, but I wasn't sure what wattage they were. They sure would be eco- friendly if they worked though, wouldn't they?

I silently cursed my bad luck and went back to the minivan for the Aaron Maddley houses. It took me three trips, but I hauled all twelve of the bluebird houses in through the front door, dropped them on the counter next to the register, then paused to catch a breath. I know, twelve lightweight red cedar birdhouses shouldn't have tired me out, but it had been a long day.

It had been a very long two months. I was looking...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Kensington
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2018
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1496718542
• ISBN 13: 9781496718549
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 288
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Dietmar Rusche; 15110751138; rusche.dietmar@gmx.de; ; Dr.-Willi-Bergmann-Str. 13; St. Andreasberg; 37444; Deutschland