"Superficial," Dad said. "If he walked into my office with that, I'd have given him a few stitches and had his family watch for signs of concussion."
"Can you tell what did it?"
"A rock, most probably," Dad said.
"Not a stick?" I said, thinking of Aunt Phoebe's walking stick and the no trespassing sign reposing back in the cooler. "Or a board?"
"Oh, no," Dad said. "Much too jagged for either of those."
"Could the blow have knocked him out?" Jeb asked.
"It's not impossible," Dad said. "But unlikely, I'd say. And even if it did knock him out, it wouldn't have caused his death. Unless he fell on a live wire when he lost consciousness."
"And he didn't fall on a live wire; he fell into the tidal pool," Jeb said.
"Unless someone put him there," Michael suggested. "To make it look as if he'd drowned."
"Or unless there was an electrical charge in the tidal pool," I said. "Remember how the birders accused Resnick of shocking the puffins to scare them away from his land? According to Jim Dickerman, he did run a charge through some of the metal parts of his roof to keep the birds from sitting on it and messing it up. But I only saw seagulls on his roof. Puffins are waterbirds--so maybe he ran a wire along the shoreline."
"And the gash could have happened if he was thrown back by the shock," Dad said. "In fact, considering the angle, I'd say it was probable."
"Good heavens," Jeb said. "Maybe it wasn't murder after all. Maybe the whole thing was a horrible accident. Probably reached in to retrieve his precious no trespassing sign, not realizing that the power was on."
He suddenly looked very cheerful. Obviously an accident, however horrible, would cause the town a lot less trouble than a murder.
"I don't suppose you could rule it a death by misadventure," he said.
"The coroner may, when he or she gets here," Dad said. "I have no jurisdiction. Still, I shouldn't be surprised."
He looked so downcast that I was almost tempted to pat him on the back and say, "Never mind, Dad; I'm sure we'll find you another murder soon."
"It's possible," I said instead. "But until they're positive, I'm sure the police will take every precaution. Treat it as a possible homicide until they're sure it's not."
"She's quite right," Dad said, brightening again at the thought that the investigation would continue, even if it was only pro forma.
"And while you're at it, why not take a look at the dead puffin?" I asked.
"The puffin?" Dad echoed. "Why?"
"Evidence," I said. "I'm sure the police will want to know how and when it died. Just to confirm Rhapsody's story."
Jeb pulled out the puffin and Dad bent over to examine it.
After blinking once in surprise, he shrugged and began giving the puffin the same careful scrutiny he'd previously given Resnick.
"Good thing Meg already figured out that Rhapsody had it in her freezer, or I'd worry about him," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Resnick.
"I think he's past worrying about," I said.
"I mean, from the point of view of an accurate autopsy," Dad said. "Could complicate things if you'd been running the meat locker cold enough to freeze the body. But, of course, you already figured out that the puffin was frozen elsewhere."
"Because of plumage," Michael put in.
"The plumage?" Dad said, looking blank.
I explained about the breeding plumage.
"Oh, very good!" Dad exclaimed. "Actually, I wasn't thinking of the plumage at all; it was the texture."
"Your medical expertise confirms Meg's deduction, then?" Michael asked.
"Actually, it's my culinary expertise," Dad said. "From my bachelor days. You can tell by the limpness that it's been thawed," he said, waggling one of the puffin's legs in a disgusting fashion. "And from the smell that it wasn't thawed recently enough to be safe," he added, bending over to smell the puffin and wrinkling his nose.
"It's not an entree, Dad; it's evidence," I said with exasperation.
"Although I do hope we're not having poultry tonight," Michael murmured.
"Can you tell how the puffin died?" I asked. "Was it electrocuted, for example?"
"Can't really tell without an autopsy, which I don't suppose you want me to do," Dad said, looking around with an eager expression. Jeb shook his head, and Dad sighed.
"Could be electrocution," Dad said. "Could be a lot of things."
"Well, it's probably irrelevant to Resnick's accident anyway," Jeb said.
"Look, about this accident idea," I said. "How do we know it was an accident? I mean, even if you assume he had the bad luck to touch something electrified during one of the rare moments yesterday when we had power, what was the something? And if you think he had some kind of electrical bird trap hooked up among the shoreline, where is it?"