Death of a Songbird Read Online Free

Zip. As in, we don’t speak unless spoken to.”
    “Even you? Didn’t you say you put up the bulk of the money?”
    “Yeah, but it was part of the arrangement.”
    “And you don’t have a problem with that?”
    “I didn’t until today. I considered the business an investment, and with Esther at the helm, I knew I’d see a return on my money. Heck, Esther drew cash out of the Warbler Café the first year she opened it.”
    “That’s pretty good.”
    “That’s darn good. It usually takes a new business three years to turn profit. Anyway, after seeing how well she did with the café, I figured I could trust her. At least, until she canceled our coffee and made no attempt at rebooking the delivery.” Lark stopped at the top of the knoll and sat down to rest her ankle in the short grass along the golf course. Gently, she massaged the sore joint, soaking in the view of the lake and golf course and gulping deep breaths of the fresh mountain air. “So tell me, Rae. Why am I making mountains out of molehills?”
    Rachel tugged at a tall stalk of grass, then twisted it around her finger. “Maybe because you have a small fortune on the line?”
    “Yeah, maybe.” Though, in reality, Lark’s fortune was tied up in the Drummond Hotel, perched majestically on the hillside behind them.
    The lavish, five-story Victorian building had been built in the early 1900s by James Drummond, Lark’s great-grandfather. Like others of his time, he had moved to the area for his health, fallen in love with Elk Park, and stayed. Forced to live in rustic accommodations, he’d spotted the potential for building a luxury resort hotel amidst the beautiful surroundings, and the Drummond—complete with ballroom, music room, billiard room, dining room, and bar, and adjoined by a carriage house, concert hall, eighteen-hole golf course and Manor House—opened for business in 1909. James and his wife played hosts to the rich and famous, and the Drummond Hotel had quickly flourished, becoming one of the country’s most popular resort destinations. Then, in the 1920s, they sold out, vesting a large number of trust funds, several of which still lived on in perpetuity.
    Not Lark’s. Three years ago, she had signed hers away for ownership of the Drummond, spending all but the two hundred fifty thousand dollars she invested in the Chipe Coffee Company.
    “Lark, do you think Esther’s argument with Teresa had something to do with the canceled deliveries?” Rachel asked, still toying with the thin blade of grass.
    “I’ll admit, the thought crossed my mind. But I can’t figure out how. Teresa’s a waitress. I don’t see that there’s any way she could have affected Chipe Coffee Company’s deliveries.”
    “Isn’t her father a grower? Maybe they’re holding a bean shipment hostage in exchange for Teresa’s safe return to Mexico.”
    “The Juan Valdez coffee wars?” Lark grinned and shook her head. “Nice theory, but Teresa’s father sent her here. He’d be more apt to refuse to sell Esther more coffee if she sent Teresa back. You know that she buys all her coffee direct from the growers?”
    Rachel shook her head.
    “Well, she does. She goes to Chiapas twice a year, personally inspects all the beans, then loads them into a big rental truck and drives them home.”
    Rachel nibbled thoughtfully on the stem of grass. “So why do you think she’s sending Teresa home? Because of something she did, or just because Esther’s tired of having a houseguest?”
    “Probably something she did.” Then again, Esther wasn’t just some middle-aged, business-oriented spinster who’d relish some company. She lived with Victor Garcia, the Elk Park County sheriff. It wasn’t inconceivable that she—or Vic, for that matter—might want Teresa to leave so they could have the house back to themselves.
    Nah . Given Vic’s work with troubled youth and Esther’s devotion to causes, it seemed highly unlikely they would just send Teresa away for no