"Hey, calm down," I said. "Aunt Phoebe isn't even hooked up to your generator, remember? I wasn't asking when you'll have the thing fixed or giving you a hard time; I just said good afternoon."
"Sorry," he said, fighting a yawn. "Bad night."
His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked as if he hadn't shaved, combed his hair, or changed his clothes in several days.
"You look as if you could use a lot more sleep," I said. "Let the generator wait a few more hours."
"Too many people complaining," he said, stifling another yawn.
"One less than there used to be at least," I said.
"Yeah," he said with a startled laugh. "I guess so. And the bastard was the biggest complainer of all. Course, he was our biggest customer, too. Pity."
"I don't suppose you saw anything useful," I asked. "Any possible clues or anything?"
"I wasn't down by Resnick's yesterday," Jim said, shrugging. "Too busy with the generator."
"What about your windows?" I asked. "I should think you have a pretty good view from there."
"When they're not shuttered up," he said. "Got 'em nailed shut for the storm right now."
"That's true," I said. "When did you do that?"
He thought for a few seconds.
"Day before they stopped the ferry," he said. "That'd be Thursday afternoon."
"So I don't suppose you saw much of what went on around the island yesterday and today, then?"
He shrugged.
"Only when I went outside," he said. "Damn birders all over everywhere."
"You don't like the birders?"
"Can't see what the big deal is, but I've got nothing against them. Mess up the island less than most damn tourists."
What a relief to see that Resnick's death wouldn't completely deprive the island of curmudgeons. I wondered if Jim and Victor Resnick had actually gotten along in their own gruff way. And then a thought hit me--Jim…
James--what if Jim Dickerman was the phantom biographer?
"Tell me," I said. "Do you know anything about the Unheralded Genius of the Down East Coast?"
"The what?" Jim asked.
" 'Who could have predicted this event, at once so joyous and so tragic?'" I quoted.
" 'Who can calculate the import this occurrence would present upon his life and art?'" Michael added.
"If that's one of those word games, I don't get it," Jim said in a voice that suggested he didn't much care, either. If he wasn't the biographer, he was a phenomenal actor. Ah, well. I tried another angle.
"Before the storm. You could see what went on at Resnick's, right?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Was he really electrocuting birds?"
"Yeah, but he wasn't killing them."
"Then what was he doing?"
"Running a low-voltage current through some of the metal struts in his roof. Give 'em a hotfoot, scare 'em away so they'd stop crapping on his glass. Town made him stop, though."
"You mean he actually did what they asked?"
Jim snorted.
"Yeah. Well, he wouldn't have, except that it didn't really work anyway. Gulls just sat on the glass. Funniest thing you ever saw, watching him jump up and down in his yard, yelling at the gulls. Couldn't throw anything without breaking the glass."
"When did he stop?"
"May, maybe June. Before the tourist season anyway."
That made sense; the puffin could have still been in breeding plumage in May or June, as far as I could tell from the bird books. Maybe puffins were more sensitive to a hotfoot than gulls. Or maybe Resnick had experimented with higher voltages before the town pulled the plug on his bird-control program.
"Have you seen your brother recently?" I asked finally.
"Fred? Yeah, he's down in the village somewhere, I guess."
From the tone of voice, I got the feeling there was no love lost between the brothers.
"No, I actually meant Will."
Jim frowned but said nothing.
"Monhegan's own candidate for America's most wanted," I went on. "You haven't seen him around recently, have you?"
"No, not since--" Jim began, then stopped.
"Not since when?" I asked.
"Not since before they got arrested," he said slowly. "What does he have to do with anything? Will wasn't even on the island when…"
His voiced trailed off, as if something had just occurred to him.
"Well, if you find out he's on the island, tell him to see his lawyer," I said.
"Even if he didn't do it," Michael said.
"Especially if he didn't do it," I added. "Do you think the police will look far for another suspect if they find someone right under their noses with a prior history of whacking people over the head?"