Six Geese A-Slaying by Donna Andrews Page A

the importance to him, and he refused again, so we
     made other arrangements.”
    “What other arrangements?”
    “It was your father’s idea,” she said.
    I winced. I could picture Dad leading a contingent of SPOOR members on a daring midnight raid to install the webcam by stealth.
    “He arranged to borrow Mr. Shiffley’s boom lift,” she said. “So we could put the camera in another nearby tree. But when we
     went out to do the installation, we found that someone had destroyed the nest.”
    “Oh, no.”
    “Including the two eggs.”
    “Oh, dear,” I murmured. “That’s a pity.”
    “It’s also a crime,” she said.
    “I thought bald eagles were off the endangered species list?”
    “They went from endangered to threatened in 1995, and were delisted entirely in 2007,” she said. “But they’re still covered
     by the Bald and Golden Eagle Protection Act.”
    “Did you report him?” I asked.
    “Unfortunately, we couldn’t prove it was Doleson,” she said. “We all knew it had to be, but we didn’t have any witnesses.
     So he’s going to get off scot free. There’s a lot of bad feeling about it among the membership. And then to hear he’d been
     chosen as Santa!”
    “He wasn’t chosen, he was a legacy,” I said. “If I’d known about the eagles, I’d have vetoed him, but since no one told me
     anything about this before today . . .”
    “I’ll tell everyone,” she said. “I think it will make a difference. I don’t think you have to worry about a boycott—I’ve pointed out that you weren’t around when the eagle slaying occurred and might not have
     known how unsuitable Ralph Dole-son was. But next year—”
    “I don’t think you need to worry about next year,” I said. I saw Chief Burke standing nearby, frowning at the large number
     of costumed geese cavorting in the area. Since Minerva had taken his costume, he was back in his usual suit.
    Ms. Ellie followed my eyes.
    “Oh, dear,” she said. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” I nodded.
    “Was there a reason you were asking about Ralph Doleson? Is he—?
    “Dead.”
    “Oh, dear,” she repeated. “That’s terrible.”
    “I thought you didn’t like him,” I said. I got the patented librarian stern look.
    “I didn’t like him, but I didn’t wish him dead,” she said. “Just elsewhere. Is there some reason the chief’s paying particular
     attention to SPOOR? Apart from the fact that he knows very well how hard we tried to get Doleson arrested and how mad we were
     that we couldn’t?”
    “Yes,” I said. “And he’d never forgive me if I jumped the gun and told you.”
    “Oh, dear,” she said, shaking her head. “I do hope none of them do anything tasteless when they hear the news. Feelings have
     been running rather high all summer.”
    “I’m sure the chief will remember that,” I said.
    “Yes, and I hope he also remembers that the SPOOR members weren’t the only ones at odds with Mr. Doleson. I think the Shif-fleys
     were rather worked up, too.”
    “The Shiffleys?” I asked. “I didn’t realize any of the Shiffleys had become bird-watchers.”
    “They’re not,” she said. “But they do—”
    “Ladies and gentlemen!” the chief said. He had his battery powered megaphone. “May I have your attention please!”
    The crowd gradually settled down. It consisted by this time not only of the costumed SPOOR members but also an ever-increasing
     number of spectators who’d figured out this was where the best pre-parade entertainment could be found.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” the chief began again.
    “Geese and ganders!” one goose exclaimed. A wave of laughter rolled through the crowd, and the chief waited it out.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” he repeated. “I regret to inform you that we’ve had a crime here at the parade. And I’d like to ask
     your help in solving it. Will all the SPOOR members please accompany me to the barn?”
    A buzz of conversation erupted, and not all of it