Blood Trail

speak to Barry about what had been going on - Vicki spent the early part of the afternoon on the phone, confirming that the game warden had, indeed, been up north since the beginning of August and had, in fact, been there on the two nights of the murders, his location supported by a bar full of witnesses. That done, and his name crossed off her list, she changed her clothes and had Rose and Peter drive her into London.

    Storm spent the entire trip with his head out the window, mouth open, eyes slitted against the wind, ears flat against his skull.

    The membership lists of both bird-watching clubs were relatively easy to get. She merely showed the presidents of each her identification and told them she'd been hired to find a distant relative of a very rich man. "All I have to go on is that they once lived in the London area and enjoyed bird-watching. There's a great deal of money involved if I find them."

    "But are you looking for a man or a woman ?"

    "I don't know," Vicki looked peeved.

    "He's lost almost all his marbles and that's all he can remember. Oh, yes, he mumbled something about this relative being a marksman."

    Neither president rose to the bait. If the killer was one of the birders, he or she hadn't mentioned his or her interest in firearms to the executive of either club. "You don't have a third cousin named Anthony Carmaletti, do you?" Vicki crossed her fingers as she asked. If either of them did have a third cousin named Anthony Carmaletti it was going to blow her rich, dying relative story right out of the water.

    She received one definite no with a twenty minute lecture on genealogy, one "I'll ask my mother, can you get back to me tomorrow?" from an octogenarian, and both lists. And Celluci says I'm a lousy liar. Ha.

    "Now what?" Rose asked as she got back into the car after the second stop.

    "Now, I need the membership list of the photography club, but I doubt the YMCA will just hand it over, and I need the OPP list of registered firearms, which should be a little easier to get ..." Cops tended to cooperate with their own. "... but right at the moment, I need to talk to Dr. Dixon."

    First impressions said Dr. Dixon could not have been the killer. He was a frail old man who wouldn't have made it to the tree, let alone climbed it carrying a high-powered rifle and scope.
    They had a short but pleasant visit. Dr. Dixon told Vicki embarrassing stories about Rose and Peter when they were children, which the twins paid no attention to as they were busy in the next room decimating his record collection.

    "Opera," the doctor explained when Vicki wondered what was going on. "Every wer I've ever met is crazy about it."

    "Every wer?" Vicki asked.

    "Every wer I've met," he reiterated. "Stuart's old pack in Vermont prefers Italian, but they're close enough to civilization they can afford to be picky. Most of the rest, at least in Canada, particularly the pack just by Algonquin Park and the lot up by Mooseane, are glued to the CBC Sunday afternoons."

    "How many packs are there?"

    "Well, I just mentioned four, and there's at least two up in the Yukon, one in northern Manitoba. ..." He frowned. "How the hell should I know? Enough for genetic diversity.
    Although at some point they seem to have inbred for opera. Can't get enough. I lend this lot records and," he raised his voice, "occasionally they bring them back."

    "Next time, Dr. Dixon," Peter called. "We promise."

    "Sure you will," he muttered. "If that damned pup's been chewing on them again I'll. ..."

    "Scratch him behind the ears and tell him he's adorable," Rose finished, coming into the room with a half dozen albums under her arm, "just like you always do."

    While they were leaving, Vicki paused on the front step and watched Storm race across the lawn after a butterfly.

    "What happens when you die?" she asked the doctor.

    He snorted. "I rot. Why?"

    "I mean, what happens to them? They won't stop needing a doctor just because you're gone."

    "When the time is right, I'll tell the young doctor who took over my practice." He laughed suddenly. "She grew up not knowing if she wanted to be a vet or a GP. The wer should be right up her alley."

    "Don't wait too long," Vicki warned.

    "Don't stick that investigating nose of yours in where it doesn't belong," Dr. Dixon shot back.
    "I've known the Heerkens family for years, longer than you've been alive. I have no intention of dropping dead and leaving them to face the world alone."

    "They won't