"Well, neither does your puffin," said the second birder. I almost expected him to say, "So there!"
Michael tried to defuse the confrontation by taking the man's camera and exclaiming over the pictures, but the two birders were squaring off for a verbal donnybrook, when a voice rang out from above us.
"What's going on here?"
I glanced up and saw Jeb Barnes, hands on hips, stumbling down the last few feet of the path.
Inspired by the interest we had shown in the puffin, Mrs. Peabody strode over and, with a flourish, tried to present it to Jeb, who began backing up the path to escape her.
I flipped through Mrs. Peabody's pictures of the puffin again. The remaining birders, sensing that I wasn't going to do anything else amusing, followed Jeb and Mrs. Peabody.
"This puffin is evidence!" Mrs. Peabody shouted.
"Nonsense!" Jeb shouted back.
"Mind if I take a look at the puffin?" I asked, looking up at the two.
"No," Jeb said. "I mean yes. I'm impounding it. As… as… as a danger to public health."
With that, he snatched the puffin from Mrs. Peabody's hands and, holding it at arm's length, fled up the path.
Mrs. Peabody frowned.
"I think he's going to lock it up for the police," I said.
"Well, that's all right, then," Mrs. Peabody said.
"And you people stay away from the crime scene," Jeb called from the top of the cliff.
"Yes, we'd better get off the beach before the tide gets any higher," Michael suggested.
We stowed our two borrowed digital cameras safely in my knapsack and headed for the path.
"So, what has the defrosted puffin told you?" Michael said as we picked our way up the side of the cliff.
"Not a thing; he's keeping his beak shut," I said in a passable imitation of a thirties movie gangster. "But give me a few minutes alone with our feathered friend and I'll make him sing like a canary."
Well, Michael thought it was funny. Mrs. Peabody said, "Humph!" and strode off ahead of us.
"Seriously, I don't know if the puffin tells us anything useful," I said in a more normal tone. "So far, it's just another puzzle: Why would someone keep a dead puffin around for months, then leave it at the scene of a murder the day after the body was discovered? It makes no sense."
"Maybe it's symbolic," Michael suggested. "That he was killed to revenge his crimes against puffinkind?"
"Possibly, but it doesn't narrow down our suspect list," I complained.
"Maybe it does," Michael said. "Whoever left the puffin here has to be a local with a freezer to keep it in, right?"
"Not necessarily," I said. "One of the birders could have brought it over on the ferry. Can you swear there wasn't a cooler containing a dead puffin somewhere in that mountain of luggage on the dock when we arrived?"
"True," he said.
"And even if a local put the puffin there, we don't know for sure that the puffin has anything directly to do with the murder."
"What other reason could anyone have for putting it there?" Michael asked. "To throw us off the scent?"
"When we find whoever put it there, we'll ask," I said.
"When you find whoever put it there?" Jeb echoed from above. "I thought I told you to keep your nose out of this."
"Well, I assume when the police find out who put the puffin there, they'll let all of us know," I said as I reached the top of the path. "Surely there's no harm in being curious."
Michael chuckled.
"Well, at least Jeb's taken custody of the puffin," Michael said in an undertone.
"Even if he's only doing it because he thinks we want it," I answered. "Whereas the only one who really wants the damned thing is Spike."
"Speaking of Spike, where is he?"
"Oh damn," I said, turning around. "Still down by the rock, chasing the waves, I suppose. I'd better get him before the tide carries him away."
"I don't see him down there," Michael said, frowning.
"Oh bloody hell," I said. "Your mother will kill us if anything happens to him."
"Well, with any luck, she'll only kill Rob," Michael said. "But it would break her heart. Let's go down and look for him."
We called back Jeb Barnes and Mrs. Peabody, and the four of us scrambled around the area by the tidal pool, frantically calling Spike's name and looking in every crevice. The waves started to wash over the rocky, flat area, drenching us and narrowing our search with every passing minute.
"We'll have to give it up," Jeb said finally. "The tide'll cover the path in a minute."
"No, we have to find him!" I said.