Twenty-Nine

I went out the kitchen door and set out across the backyard then down the hill as if planning to walk across the fields to Mother and Dad’s farm. I ambled along as if on a pleasure outing—Meg enjoying the scenery, and maybe relishing a break from childcare. Not that I expected anyone to be watching, but you never knew.

Once I reached the woods, I picked up the pace and circled around, heading for a place where the woods came right up to the road. I figured that would be the perfect place to cross the road. I could skulk through the woods on Mr. Early’s side of the road, climb up the back of one of the hills that overlooked our house, and keep an eye on him and our house at the same time.

But as I approached the road, I realized that someone had anticipated me. A dark blue Honda Accord was parked by the side of the road, just out of sight of our house.

I watched it for a while, until I was sure it was empty. Then I carefully approached it and peered in the windows. Neat and clean inside, and almost empty, except for a couple of books on the front seat. Books very familiar to the daughter of an avid bird-watcher: The Sibley Field Guide to Birds of Eastern North America and Hawks and Owls of Eastern North America.

So did this mean that the owner of the empty car was an innocent bird-watcher, out prowling the countryside in search of owls and other nocturnal birds to add to his life list? Or was that only the impression the bird books were supposed to make on a suspicious passerby? When Dad went bird-watching, he usually took his guides with him, along with a small pocket flashlight so he could consult them in case he ran into an uncommon species. Perhaps leaving your guides in the car was an act of bravado—the bird-watching equivalent of doing crossword puzzles in pen. Then again, I didn’t see any of the other detritus that usually accompanied Dad’s birdwatching forays—the water bottles, the snacks, the compass, the Tecnu in case he had to wade through poison ivy, the tripod and telescope, the dry clothes in case he fell in a swamp. Perhaps Dad went overboard on the paraphernalia, but still, the more I stared at those two books, placed with such artful carelessness in the front seat of the Honda, the more suspicious I found them.

Of course, since I’d been looking for a missing friend for several days, had discovered a dead body along the way, and was suffering from a slight case of sleep deprivation, maybe I was more paranoid than usual.

Not a puzzle I could solve by continuing to inspect the car. I wrote down the license plate number, then I crept along the edge of the woods for a way, until I came to a nice, climbable tree that gave me a good view of the Honda, the road in front of our house, and Seth Early. I found a comfortable perch and settled back to watch all three.