“Thanks for leaving us the catch!” one of the sisters called out cheerfully.
“Jolly decent of you,” the other added.
Beth and Devon glanced sidelong at each other. “Um,” Devon said.
“Three thousand pounds at least for one of these,” the first Miss Fotheringham said, holding up the sack. Beth could see through its silk tulle that the bird’s beak and feet had been bound with frilly garters. “I wonder where it came from.”
“Wherever it did, it’s good luck for us,” the second Miss Fotheringham said. “A lapwing captureandthe caladrius call in our possession, all in one afternoon!”
“ButIhave the caladrius call,” Beth said without thinking. Beside her, Devon winced.
“Is that so, my dear?” Miss Fotheringham held forth the netted lapwing in the manner of a weapon and smiled meaningfully. The bird’s sweet odor flashed through the air.
Sighing, Beth took the call from her pocket and handed it over. With a brusque nod of farewell, the Misses Fotheringham marched along the corridor toward the museum’s lobby, heels clicking sanctimoniously against the floor. Beth and Devon stared after them.
“I’m not sure why I bother being polite,” Beth said, “considering how rude everyone else is.”
Devon gave a brief, dry laugh. “Things are only going to get worse with this new contest. Really, I can’t think of a more foolhardy idea than offering Birder of the Yearandtenure.”
“Reckless,” Beth agreed.
Nevertheless, the gaze they shared was filled with longing—for a permanent departmental office, that is, and their own aviary, and a lifetime’s supply of free tea and biscuits. Then Devon’s mouth began to slide into a crooked smile, as if he simply could not keep his wicked charm suppressed for long.
Beth sighed. “I fear you are also very rude.”
“And yet, you’re still staring.”
Her jaw dropped with incredulity—no, outrage!—no, horror! But while she was thus occupied searching for the most appropriate synonym, Devon leaned forward to whisper.
“I suspect you may be rather impolite yourself beneath all those good manners, Miss Pickering.”
Beth’s mouth snapped shut, and she drew herself up to the dignified height of five feet six inches (although to be honest, three of those inches included her hat). “I am not. Some of us can be fine ladiesandrational creatures in the same form, sir, regardless of what novelists may suppose. You will not disturb my calm waters. Furthermore…”
“Yes?” he prompted when she fell silent.
She frowned. “Stop smoldering at me like that.”
Now he was the one who frowned, although it somehow managed to be mischievous, and a smile lurked at the edge of his mouth. “Smoldering?”
Beth gestured awkwardly. “With your eyes like that. We can’t have a reasonable discussion while you are smoldering.”
His frown swayed out of mischief right into wickedness. “Why, Miss Pickering, I thought I couldn’t disturb your calm waters.”
Beth bristled so much she feared becoming like the thornbacked owl, an unsurprisingly rare species that tended to explode when touched. Taking a deep breath to settle herself, since there did not seem to be a convenient tea station installed in the museum corridor, she said politely, “Good afternoon, sir. I shall be on my way.”
“Of course.” He stepped back, gesturing along the corridor. “After you.”
With a gracious nod, Beth turned and marched away. Traversing the lobby, ignoring Devon’s footsteps behind her, she flung open the museum’s exit door. But as she went through to the wide doorstep beyond, a sudden burst of light flashed in her eyes, causing her to stumble back with startlement.
“Madam, look this way?” someone called in a French accent. “And perhaps a smile?”
Another burst of light had Beth raising her arm as a shield. At once, Devon moved in front of her with an unexpected protectiveness that charmed her more than she wanted to admit.
“Sir!” came the voice again, loud, enthusiastic. “The name’s Mirou, reporter withLe Petit Journal. How does it feel to have saved all these people from a deadly bird?”
Lowering her arm, Beth peered confusedly around Devon’s shoulder at the scene before her. Two gentlemen in rather cheap suits, one holding a box camera, the other a notepad and pen, were standing in front of the museum, smiling rapaciously at her and Devon. Beyond them huddled a trio of museum employees, and beyond them, cluttering the street, a small but excited crowd of onlookers.
“How did you know about the bird?” Devon asked suspiciously.
