Birds are indicators of the environment. If they are in trouble, we know we’ll soon be in trouble.
—Roger Tory Peterson, Environmentalist
“ALL I REMEMBER about that day are those crows taking over the entire campus,” Brainert said. “They flew away in a day or so, but the mess they left in their wake was appalling—”
“They crapped all over your ivory towers, eh?” Seymour said.
“Yes, they did,” Brainert said, not amused. “Along with the chapel, the Hall of Literature, and the statue of Saint Francis himself, those fiends.”
“We got a raw deal, all right,” Seymour agreed. “All those birds and no Tippi Hedren.”
Brainert huffed. “Hitchcock may have been the master of suspense, but even he didn’t dare show the aftermath of an actual bird infestation.”
“We’re lucky the crows didn’t make a winter roost here,” Seymour added. “Not long ago, when they stayed in New Haven instead of flying south, they caused thousands of dollars in damage and a major public health crisis.”
“My goodness, I didn’t know that,” Sadie replied, impressed. She smiled at Seymour the way she used to when he was thirteen and offering to help her carry home her groceries. “But then our local Jeopardy! champ has always been a fount of knowledge.”
As Seymour preened, Brainert sniffed.
“You call that knowledge? More like trivia. And he wouldn’t have earned any points for it, either, since he failed to put it in the form of a question.”
“Here’s a question for you, Brainpan. How would you like a trip to the moon, Ralph Kramden–style?”
While the professor and the postal worker played verbal badminton, Jack began pumping me for information.
Give me the skinny, doll. The crows flew south but the vagabond stuck around. What’s the why and how of that?
Norma changed her plans and wintered in Quindicott, that’s all. Maybe she did it because her sister lives nearby. All I know is that she chose to do it two winters in a row, so she must like our town.
Okay, but that still doesn’t tell me how your bird—who flew the coop with a Halloween sack full of gems—ended up working at the Finch Inn.
That happened right before Thanksgiving the first year she was here, I explained. Fiona’s full-time maid suddenly quit, and Fiona was desperate to find a suitable replacement. Norma did competent work at some small repair jobs Barney hired her to do around the property, so Fiona offered Norma the maid position. The job came complete with free meals and a room at the inn.
Working at a busy inn is an odd job for a woman who lives a life of solitude, Jack pointed out. Or maybe she just liked Fiona’s grub—
Now that you mention it, Jack, there must be a better reason than room and board.
Not necessarily. Three square meals on a round plate and a warm place to bunk can feel like a touch of heaven for someone living on the road. Which makes me wonder . . .
What?
Why Norma would throw away Fiona’s sweet deal and the cinch job she had at your bookstore for a bunch of jewels she can’t pawn without getting made. Those rocks have a history, and it’s likely that everyone in the jewelry trade knows it.
“Earth to Pen.”
I blinked and realized Seymour was looming over me.
“I was just saying good night, but you zoned out,” Seymour said.
“Sorry, Seymour. Hectic day.”
“Sure, I get it. You’ve got a lot on your mind. Anyway, I’m driving Professor Knucklehead to his place before he gets into more trouble. It’s starting to drizzle, and I want to beat the storm home.”
“Don’t forget your books,” Sadie said, handing Seymour a tote bag.
The departure of Seymour and Brainert was followed by a flurry of customers. The rush lasted about an hour, until the storm intensified to a point where no one wanted to venture out. Sadie took over, saying she would close the shop herself.
I was glad to be relieved of further duties, so I could check on my son. But before I went upstairs, I pulled out my mobile phone.
I needed to check on someone else.