Thirty minutes later Liz was showered, dressed, kissed the cat, and was ready to tackle the letters and talk over the latest developments with Ryan and Betty. The rain had stopped, but storm clouds still blanketed the sky. Rather than getting caught in another monsoon, she took her golf cart to the Indialantic and parked under the awning at the lobby entrance. It appeared no one from the sheriff’s department had arrived. They were probably still processing the crime scene.
The only car parked in the circular drive was a white Nissan Altima with Vero Beach plates. She assumed it was Branson’s, which she confirmed by peeking inside and seeing a stack of The Soulful Sea restaurant menus on the front seat. In the backseat was a closed cardboard box.
She entered the lobby. No one was around. Which was good because she had an ulterior motive to look through the box of letters before the others arrived. Barnacle Bob was in his cage in the elevator. “Hey, BB, how you doing, bud? Did you do something naughty and that’s why you’re quarantined once again?” There was a crack of thunder and Liz saw the macaw tremble. Barnacle Bob wasn’t a big fan of thunder.
“Snap, crackle, pop! Snap, crackle, pop!” he repeated.
Aunt Amelia thought his fear of thunderstorms had something to do with the way he’d been abandoned outside a bird rescue center during a storm. Her heart swelled when another boom of thunder had him bouncing around his cage, wings aflutter. When Liz was small, she had a rescue dog named Molly. Molly would shake and pant through every storm, not calming until hours after it abated. It was only when you held Molly and wrapped her tightly in a blanket that she would quiet. “Oh BB, what can I do to help you?”
He replied between his trembling and sang in a high-pitched voice bordering on hysteria, “Stormy weather…Stormy weather.”
“Okay, I know Auntie is busy with Dorian and you feel abandoned. I’ll bring you with me to the bell tower. We’ve tried this before. Don’t let me regret it.” She removed her earrings and necklace and put them in her mail cubby behind the registration desk. Slowly, she walked toward the cage and opened the door. Instead of sticking her hand in, she turned her back and aimed her right shoulder near the opening.
“Stormy weather… Pretty bird.”
“Hop on, BB. I’ve gotta get up to the bell tower before the others so I can preview the letters. Maybe I’m psychic, I just know there’s some tie between them and the two murders.”
BB did as he was told for a change. The weight of his body and his bird feet clutching her shoulder was a feeling she wasn’t used to. When they got to the top of the curving staircase he seemed to have finally found his footing. Still leery of his beak, she kept her head tilted to the left to avoid any earlobe nipping.
They passed through the hallway without meeting anyone and then climbed the narrow staircase to the bell tower. Once inside, she tilted her body and Barnacle Bob transferred from her shoulder to the tripod that held a telescope Ryan had bought her for Christmas. And yes, Ryan had even bought her a star and named it Bossy Pants.
“Good bird. Maybe we can trust each other from now on?” He didn’t answer, nervously looking out from the curved half moon opening that had a view of the rough Atlantic. There were a few flashes of lightning, miles in the distance, followed by low growls of thunder.
Liz sat at the old scarred wood table and opened the box of letters. Most were as the Wagners had said. Wren complaining about the workload and poor quality of food and health care. The young adults lived in bunkers, woke at five, and were sent to the fields or kitchens to make the baked goods to sell for the farmer’s market. There was no air-conditioning except in Elder Jay’s quarters. “Idle hands make idle minds,” seemed to be Elder Jay’s response to criticism from his unhappy campers.
In later letters, Wren became obsessed with pointing out Elder Jay’s posh lifestyle. His new model automobiles, jewelry, and bags of cash he took to the bank every Monday from the spoils of the weekend’s market. In one letter she mentioned that someone who was in charge of the baked goods table was accused of pocketing half of the proceeds. They never saw the kid again. Afterward, the entire camp had to sit through a two-hour lecture from Elder Jay on the sins of stealing.
Liz glanced at her watch and told herself, one more letter before Ryan and Betty come.
And what a letter it was.
She immediately sent a group text to Ryan and Betty, put her phone back in her purse, and reread the letter. In the letter Wren talked of meeting a new friend. The two of them planned to escape together. The friend’s mother was a famous psychic and had lots of money and was going to take care of them.
The last line had been the Ah-Ha! moment.
“Whaddya have there?”
Liz placed the letter down, then reached for her phone. Darn! She’d just put it in her bag. She didn’t have to turn around because she knew the voice. What she didn’t know was if they’d killed Wren or Julian. Or both.