“Slowly but surely. I’m making progress, but I’m afraid it’s a tedious and painstaking job to match up all the notes, find the birds, and tag them accordingly.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Smoothing his necktie, he glanced at the crates of books Luke and Tom had boxed up from the library. “I hope these will be gone by tomorrow. My mother—Uncle Linus’s sister—and my children are coming, eager to pilfer.”
“Yes, sir, I understand these will go out by this evening. The birds will take me much longer to finish sorting through.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “My family doesn’t want those birds, I assure you. I trust they’ll leave you alone as they search for unclaimed valuables.” Leaving the entry hall, he moved through the corridor.
Elsa went with him. “Speaking of valuables, I understand the aviary was willed to the Petrovics.”
He inhaled sharply, his mustache twitching. “A foolish decision made by an old woman clearly not in her right mind.”
Oh dear. “But you’ll honor her wishes, won’t you?”
“It’s a moot point since no one knows where it is,” he countered, and Elsa didn’t press the matter.
At the library, he exchanged a few words with Luke, then bypassed the dining hall and entered the stair tower. Ratherthan climb, however, he stepped outside, stationing himself in the shade of the overhang. Two museum staff exited, carrying a painting between them. Mr. Spalding stopped them to check their identification and mark something on his clipboard.
He glanced at his watch, then toward the museum staff returning to the stair tower. They nodded politely as they passed, sweat beading their brows.
“Any of those paintings Aunt Birdie donated could have gone to the family,” he muttered once they were gone, “andwecould havesoldthem to the museums—at a bargain rate, too—and made a pretty profit. I have no idea why she insisted on being generous to institutions and not to her own people. Now, do excuse me. You have work to do, and as soon as I check out the rest of the paintings slated for the museums, I’ll head back to the office.”
“Of course. I apologize.” She turned to go but paused in the doorway. “Where is your office?” she dared to ask, wondering what kind of a living he made. Perhaps she’d been wrong to trust he wanted the aviary only to give it to the rightful owners. Knowing where he worked might help her understand his financial situation.
“Oh no. Just what I need today.” Lowering the clipboard, Mr. Spalding squinted at a dark green Ford Model T that had turned into the drive and was slowly progressing toward the house. When it rolled to a stop beside one of the museum vehicles, Mr. Spalding marched out to it, holding out his hand like a traffic cop.
At the driver’s side of the auto, he paused, likely waiting for the window to open. “Not today, cousin,” Mr. Spalding said loudly enough for Elsa to hear. “As you can see, the museums are here collecting their acquisitions according to the will. No relatives except for myself are to be here until they’re through. Be a sport and stay out of the way, will you? Play by the rules like the rest of us.”
“Play by the rules? That’s rich, considering Uncle Linus neverdid.” The glare off the windshield prevented Elsa from seeing the man inside, but it was easy enough to hear him. “If only museum staff are to be present, who is that and why is she here?”
Elsa bristled as Mr. Spalding glanced her way. “Sheismuseum staff. She’ssupposedto be here. You aren’t.” Exhaust fumes plumed from the rattling Tin Lizzie.
“It would have been nice to learn of Aunt Birdie’s passing from you, Guy. Instead, I had to hear of it from the executor of her will. You couldn’t spare the time for a phone call? A stamp? The executor never said anything about waiting to come, and I’ve driven all the way from Philadelphia to be here.”
“A day, Hugh. That’s all I ask. Find a room in the village and come back tomorrow, all right?”
Muttering followed. Mr. Spalding backed up, and the auto sputtered around the circle drive and back out to the main road.
A long-suffering sigh blustered from Mr. Spalding as he rejoined Elsa. “Cold Spring Harbor, Long Island.”
“Pardon me?”
“I work at the Eugenics Records Office. Second floor, third office on the right, if you wanted to know that, too. Anything else I can tell you?”
Elsa suspected there was. But for now, she took her leave.
The next few hours passed slowly. Before Elsa could go through the field notebooks Luke had located, she still had to finish putting the loose pages she’d found yesterday in the correct order. When at last she finished that job, her leg felt stiff and could do with a little stretching.
Circling around to the other end of the dining hall table, she uncovered the green birds they’d moved there from the library. The closest bird to her wasCyanocorax luxuosus, a green jay from the woodlands of Central America. He wore a distinctiveblack mask and had a blue patch on his forehead. She was sure she’d already copied the details for this one into her own ledger.
Now, where was it?
She hadn’t been able to alphabetize her entries yet—that would have to be done after she finished filling it in entirely—so she had to rely on her memory or flip through every page in her notebook to find the right species. It would help to recall the year of the expedition.
Oh dear. Elsa’s memory was good, but not photographic. This bird came from Guatemala, but Mr. Van Tessel had been to Central America three times. During which of those expeditions had he caught this one?
Sinking into the nearest chair, she turned the pages until she found it. She checked her watch. It had taken her three minutes to scan all those columns and locate the one she wanted.
“No bueno, birdie,” she muttered, shaking her head at the waste of time. She filled out a tag for him anyway, leaving blank the space for his catalog number, which would have to be assigned later. She tied it to his left leg.
