The Buzzard Table - By Margaret Maron Page 0,13

blur her memory of the old one. He just hoped that the vultures would accept his new look.

When they first married, real estate prices were so insane that Ginger and Wesley Todd could not touch any house on this side of town, much less a house in this neighborhood; but by the time the floundering economy had sent this 2,200-square-foot dream house into foreclosure, their pest control business was doing well enough to let them put in a serious offer. Four bedrooms, two and a half baths, a master suite with a huge walk-in closet, finished basement, and a two-car garage on a large lot thick with trees and bushes, and not too far from her parents’ more modest neighborhood.

The only hitch was that the agent who first showed them the property had gone missing. Fortunately the agency owner had stepped in and was proving just as helpful.

“So if your daughter’s bed doesn’t fit in that dormer room, it’s going to be a deal-breaker?” Paula Coyne asked as she unlocked the front door for them shortly before 10:30 that evening.

They left their wet umbrellas dripping outside the door and wiped their shoes on the welcome mat.

Ginger Todd knew that she was being silly, but Ms. Coyne’s tone was teasing so she smiled back. “It’s really nice of you to come out this late, in the rain and all, so we can take one last look, but this is such a huge step for us, and when we remembered the ceiling…”

“It’s a lot of money,” the Realtor agreed, flipping on the light switches. “I don’t blame you a bit for wanting to be sure. That’s what we’re here for.”

The house had been minimally staged: a couch and some chairs in the living room on the right, a table and four side chairs in the dining room on the left. “They’ll get the furniture out of your way as soon as you close on Thursday,” Ms. Coyne said, moving briskly to the staircase.

The younger woman started to follow, but her husband fumbled for the light switches on the interior living room wall.

“You know, hon, I really do like that couch. It’s long enough to stretch out on when I watch TV.” He looked up at Ms. Coyne, who was already halfway up the stairs. “Is there any chance you could get them to leave it?”

“We can certainly ask,” she said.

“But that color,” his wife said. “Will it go with the rest of our things?” She moved past him to consider the couch’s potential. She rather liked the pattern—large dramatic bunches of red roses and green leaves on a white background. “I don’t think our red chair will match this red, though.”

“Sure it will,” Wes Todd said confidently. In contrast to his wife’s habit of dithering and second-guessing herself, he usually knew his own mind and made snap decisions. “Besides, it’s really more green-and-white than red.” He whipped off the bright red afghan that had been draped over one end of the couch. “See?”

His wife started to agree, then made a face. “Forget it, Wes. Look at that yucky stain.”

“Stain?” Ms. Coyne frowned and came back down to join them. Selling houses in this economy was hard enough with fresh paint and pristine décor. Stained furniture was unacceptable in the listings she handled. She remembered admiring the couch when she did her walk-through yesterday, so the afghan must have hidden the stain because no way would she not have noticed this ugly—

“Oh, dear Lord!” she said. “Is that blood?”

CHAPTER

6

Turkey vultures usually hiss when they feel threatened.

—The Turkey Vulture Society

Wednesday morning

I had been half joking when I said that my mother-in-law would probably cajole Martin Crawford into talking to a class at West Colleton High. It never occurred to me that she would rope Anne Harald in for something as well. Yet when I came back to my courtroom after the midmorning break, there sat Miss Emily on the front bench with Anne Harald on one side and Richard Williams on the other. Miss Emily wouldn’t meet my eyes, but Anne gave me a rueful smile and Richard beamed with his usual friendly optimism.

As the youth minister at the Methodist church here in Dobbs and an advocate for troubled kids, Richard was in and out of the courthouse several times a week pleading that his charges be given another chance to straighten out their lives before they were sentenced to serious jail time. He could be here for the shoplifter, one of the D&Ds,