Sacrifice of Buntings by Christine Goff Read Free Book Online Page A

gray kingbird was voted the best catch of the day. Dusty and dirty, the busload of birders had arrived back at the Hyde Island Convention Center minutes before the kickoff festivities began, with no time to return to the hotel and change.
    “I need to find a ladies’ room,” Rachel said, swatting dust from the legs of her pants.
    “Okay,” Lark said. “How about we’ll meet you at the bar?”
    Dorothy, Cecilia, and Lark headed into the convention hall, while Rachel sniffed out a bathroom. A few minutes later, she checked out the damage in the bathroom mirror. Dust powdered her face, blotting out her freckles, and her hair feathered her white cap in a riot of curls. Wiping down her face with a paper towel, she stuffed her cap into her back pocket and finger-combed her reddish hair into a French twist. Rolling her long-sleeved shirt into a belt, she cinched it around her waist, turned up the cuffs of her pants, and then waded back through the crowd. She found Lark standing at the bartender’s station clutching a twenty-dollar bill in one hand.
    “There you are,” Lark said, her braid draping her shoulder like a thin feather boa, tufts of blonde hair sticking out at odd angles. “What do you want to drink?”
    “A Pepsi.”
    “One Pepsi, two white wines, and a Coors light,” Lark ordered, flashing the bartender a smile.
    Rachel glanced around and sized up the crowd. “I swear your numbers are off. There are nowhere near twelve hundred people in here. Five hundred, maybe.”
    “Not everyone shows up opening night,” Lark said, snatching a handful of napkins off the counter and wafting them through the air. “A lot of these people are vendors and presenters.”
    “Along with a few hard-core birders,” Cecilia said, coming up behind them. “Like us.”
    Like you . Rachel knew she didn’t fit the category. At best, she could be called an advanced beginner bird-watcher. One who sometimes got lucky.
    “It also gives anyone interested a chance to rub elbows with the stars,” Dorothy said, panning the crowd.
    “Mostly it gives potential buyers a chance to check out the stuff without pressure to buy.” Lark handed Rachel her Pepsi and nudged her into the aisle. “The vendors aren’t allowed to ring up sales tonight.”
    As they wandered “The Nest,” Rachel decided the event was a smart marketing plan. She had no doubts that most of these people would come back tomorrow to buy things. There was tremendous interest in the big-ticket items—the binoculars and scopes. Booth after booth carried brands from Bausch & Lomb to Zeiss. People waited in lines to focus demo scopes on the bird pictures taped high in the rafters, while more people pawed through display racks of clothing, bird feeders, books, artwork, sculptures, and jewelry—anything imaginable that had a bird, insect, or wild animal on it.
    “Check this out.” Rachel pointed to a camouflaged exhibit spanning the south wall. A banner emblazoned with “beau and reggie’s birds of prey” stretched high above a twelve-tree-stump display, camouflaged to depict a woodland scene. Various birds sat on the stumps, among them an American kestrel, a peregrine falcon, a prairie falcon, a bald eagle, a golden eagle, a great horned owl, a northern harrier, and a red-tailed hawk. The birds eyed the crowd with a mixture of deference, disdain, and fear.
    Lark swigged her beer and studied the peregrine. “I’ve seen this exhibit before. It’s run by Beau and Reggie.”
    “Obviously,” Rachel said. Lark’s statement seemed redundant with the sign.
    “They’re considered the Siegfried and Roy of the raptor world.”
    “First it’s the Indiana Jones of the birding world, then it’s the Siegfried and Roy?”
    Lark ignored her. “As I recall, they put on a pretty good show.”
    “They claim their birds are unfit for release,” Dorothy said, punctuating her words with a sniff.
    “Let me guess,” Rachel said. “You don’t believe them.”
    Dorothy